


The Warmth Of Home

by Inked_Stars



Series: Winged AUs [4]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alexis | Quackity-centric, Cat Hybrid GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Creeper Hybrid Sam | Awesamdude, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Hurt/Comfort, Hybrid Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kidnapping, Other, Parent Sam | Awesamdude, Past Alexis | Quackity/Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Recreational Drug Use, Winged Alexis | Quackity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:53:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 60,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29641209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inked_Stars/pseuds/Inked_Stars
Summary: The rain poured in torrents around him, further soaking his already dripping clothes. His wings hang behind him as he stumbles through the pouring rain, blinking it from his eyes.He watches as the wall slides open, revealing a confused man stood in the warm glow of his home, tucked away in the hill....Or, Awesamdude is an amazing father figure and Quackity finds out just how great he is.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Sam | Awesamdude, Alexis | Quackity/Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Alexis| Quackity & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Series: Winged AUs [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2124123
Comments: 370
Kudos: 511





	1. Chapter 1

The rain poured in torrents around him, further soaking his already dripping clothes. His wings hang behind him as he stumbled through the pouring rain, blinking the it from his eyes. His feathers are wet, a dead weight on his back as he trips over a root, almost sending him sprawling face first in the dirt.

He stumbles, trying to right himself, unwilling to fall face first into the soaked earth. He falls heavily against a stone wall. The stone is smooth, no cracks visible in the walls. He pounds desperately on its surface, his fist hitting the rock as the rain drips from his hair, running in rivulets down his face. He only stops his pounding when he hears a small click resonate through the surrounding area, pulling back from the stone, his fist red and bruised, the skin split in places from his rough treatment.

He watches as the wall slides open, revealing a confused man stood in the warm glow of his home, tucked away in the hill. He can’t see his face from underneath the gas mask he wears, but he watches him reach forward, flinching backwards as his hands almost connect with his arms. He stumbles slightly, still unsteady on his feet, the slippery ground making it harder for him to balance.

“Do you want to come inside?” He nods, quickly stepping into the warmth of the home, watching as the wall slides shut behind him, shutting out the elements as it closes. His clothes are dripping, creating a small puddle on the floor. He stands there, watching as Sam moves around his small entryway, pulling a mop out of a cupboard, bringing it over to where he’s stood, gesturing for him to move aside. He does, watching as the man mops up the puddle of water, soaking every last drop up.

He leans on the mop once he’s finished, looking at him, “What brings you here Quackity? Last I heard you were doing well in Manburg.” 

He averted his eyes, “I was.”

Sam stands up straight, pushing the mop aside, leaving it leant up against a wall.

“We should probably get you some dry clothes.” He moves down the hallway, Quackity following behind him, feeling slightly numb. He glances back at the doorway, looking at the honey and slime blocks, arranged in a pattern, creating the mechanism that opens and closes the door hidden in the stone.

He’s still dripping water everywhere, small puddles trailing after him as he walks, more droplets splashing from his wings with every movement he makes. He doesn’t even try to move them, knowing that they’ll just start hurting again.

He follows Sam through a doorway, entering a small bathroom. It’s perfectly tiled, the white porcelain uniform in their rows, gleaming with obvious care. Sam shuts the door behind him, rummaging through some cabinets before pulling out a towel. He hands it to Quackity, letting him dry himself off whilst he looks through another cabinet, pulling out a fresh set of clothes for him.

He doesn’t know why Sam is so prepared for someone coming to his home in need of new clothes, but he’ll take it, glad the man had even let him in. He waits for Sam to turn around before stripping out of his suit, carefully manoeuvring his wings through the small slits it the back, designed specifically for him. He gasps as one lets out a small twinge, reawakening the pain he had managed to forget about.

He clenches his teeth together, waiting for the small spark of pain to subside before moving the other wing out of his suit. He drops the jacket on the floor, shirt following soon after, both landing in a crumpled heap, probably soaking the tiles. He roughly dries his wings off with the towel, his feathers fluffing up as he rubs the fabric back and forth over the wings.

Once they’re reasonably dry, he turns to the set of fresh clothes Sam had left on the counter. The creeper hybrid is still facing the wall, not looking towards Quackity in the slightest. He’s grateful for that as he pulls the clothes on, faintly surprised when he finds they fit him almost perfectly, small slits in the back for his wings to slide through.

He just pulled the cosy sweater on when he heard a snuffling at the door, freezing as he turned towards it.

“Don’t worry about that, it’s just Fran.” Sam spoke up, turning around as he did so, facing Quackity again. He watched as Sam moved to the door, pulling it open and allowing a mass of fluff to bound into the room. The bundle of fur runs up to him, sniffing him all over excitedly. She comes up beyond his waist, he’s not quite sure whether it’s just because he’s short or she’s absolutely massive. Nonetheless, she’s bigger than him and he shrinks back, wary of her size and the sharp teeth he can see in her mouth.

“She’s harmless, I promise.” Sam assured him, calling Fran over and petting her, ruffling the fur on her head. He begins to walk out of the bathroom, Fran trotting at his heels. Quackity doesn’t know what else to do, so he follows after him, socked feet padding over carpeted floors. Sam takes a turn at the end of a corridor, heading towards a more open space, emerging into a lounge kitchen.

Sam enters the kitchen section, looking over to Quackity, “You hungry?”

He watches Sam for a second, wondering whether he would yell if he said yes. He nodded his head slowly, watching as the man pulls a few things from the cabinets, clanking some bowls together as he pulls them from above his head. He sets the items down on the counter, tossing a few things in the bowls before making his way over to Quackity, bowl in each hand.

He moves past where Quackity is stood, sitting on a long sofa, patting the cushion next to him, inviting him to sit. He does, perched right on the edge, wings relaxed behind him, feathers pressing against the cushions below him as the wings bend awkwardly.

Sam hands him a bowl, removing his gas mask to eat his. Quackity knows the man isn’t scary, he’s come to him for items enough times, but his face can be a bit…unsettling, if you aren’t ready for it. Quackity is, only quickly scanning over his face, taking in the small scales dotting his cheeks and his black eyes, the only light in them his red pupils. He has a few burns scattered along his jaw and up his neck, most likely from his work with redstone.

The man picks a slice of apple from the bowl, holding it between his fingers before popping it in his mouth. They eat in silence for a minute, Quackity barely picking at his food instead of eating it. Sam turns to him, holding a piece of orange in his hand.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the company, but, what are you doing here? It’s not everyday someone turns up on my doorstep soaking wet and shaking.”

Quackity shifts from side to side, nibbling on a slice of apple as he considers how to answer. He could tell the truth, or he could lie and have the truth found out later. He chose the truth.

“Schlatt tore down the whitehouse, so I left, I couldn’t do it anymore. I’ve given up.” He slumps forward a bit, shoulders curling in on him slightly as he hunches over his bowl, staring down at the various fruits that sit inside.

“Oh,” Fran chooses then to hop up onto the sofa, settling herself between him and Sam, pressing herself up against him. He tenses up as she first presses against him, relaxing slightly as she remains still, just lying against his side.

“She likes you,” he looks over to see Sam smiling at him, his eyes slightly creased at the corners. “You can stay here as long as you need, you know?”

“Thank you.” He almost feels like crying, the kindness that Sam has shown him in the past half hour more than he had seen since Schlatt took power. He trembles slightly, hands clenching around his bowl as he felt grief rack through him. Sam doesn’t move towards him, which he’s grateful for.

“Would you like to go to bed? It’s rather late.”

He nods, taking all the kindness he can. He stands, following after Sam as the man moves down another corridor.

“I have a roommate, but I doubt you’ll wake him, he sleeps pretty heavily most of the time.” Quackity nods, looking at the door Sam gestures to as they pass it. It’s light blue, the paint slightly cracked along one panel, the paint splitting to reveal the colour of the wood underneath.

Sam continues on past it, guiding him to a door near the end of the hallway. This one is a plain oak, the room beyond just as plain and boring.

“Feel free to decorate if you want to, I don’t mind.” At that Sam turns and leaves, the door slightly ajar behind him as he walks out, Fran trotting at his heels. He moves over to the door, shutting it fully and leaning back against the wood. He tips his head back, staring at the plain ceiling, wondering how on earth he had gotten here.

That’s a lie, he knows exactly how he got here, the hour of trudging through rain and mud adding to that. The argument with Schlatt before lading to that. The whole thing could be boiled down to the election though. That was definitely the day everything went wrong, when George had failed to show up, he panicked, not wanting to look like a fool he combined his votes with Schlatt.

He hadn’t expected them to win, let alone for them to succeed in winning. He had been sure that Wilbur would rig the election, not get himself exiled from the country he built. He’s not sure if he fully believes even that, from what he knew, Tommy had been the one who gained their country’s independence.

He rubbed his hands against his eyes, furiously scrubbing them as he tried to make sense of anything. His wings were pressed up against the door uncomfortably, the bones pressing into the hard wood as he leaned against them.

He stood from the floor, making his way over to the small bed, collapsing onto it, wriggling underneath the covers from where he lay. He stared at the sheets below him, lying on his front to prevent any more aching in his wings. They already hurt enough, and he hadn’t even moved them in months, he didn’t know why they would be hurting so much.

He pressed his face further into his pillow, forcing his eyes shut and trying to get some sleep.

…

He woke up early the next morning, the sun not even risen over the horizon when he stirred, stretching out as he lay on his front, debating on whether to get up or not. He groaned and rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thump. He lay there a moment, wondering whether he should just stay there, lay there and wait for someone to come find him.

He stood up, still wearing the clothes that Sam had given him the day before. He pulled the door open, trudging into the hallway. The light blue door from the previous night was open, the occupant obviously already awake. He assumed Sam was too, he was pretty sure he could hear his voice in the room beyond.

He walked into the lounge, watching as Sam bustled around the small kitchen, stirring a few bowls and messing with a few things on the stove. His gas mask was firmly on his face, muffling his voice as he talked to the person sat at the table near to him. they had their head down on the table, but he would recognise that jumper anywhere.

He groaned internally, making his way over to the table and throwing himself into the seat beside George. It was just his luck, he would be stuck as roommates with the person who had caused his downfall in the first place.

George turned to look at him, bringing his face up from the table, blinking at him tiredly, his goggles perched on the top of his head, nestled between a pair of ears. He turns to Sam, looking a bit confused, “When did we get a new roommate?”

“Last night when he turned up on our doorstep in the rain. You were already asleep, had been for a few hours.”

Quackity stared at the side of George’s head, hoping the man could feel his gaze boring into his skull. George flicked an ear, turning to look at him as he did so. His eyes were tired, large bags under them despite having been asleep for at least eight hours.

“What?” 

“This is all your fault you know.”

“How?”

“You never showed up to the election, you slept through it, so this is all your fault.”

“Again, I don’t understand how those events even correlate, me not turning up to the election, and, you being my roommate?”

“If Schlatt hadn’t been put into power then none of this would have happened.”

“You didn’t have to team up with him, what was it you said, pool your votes?”

Sam places a plate in front of each of them, a pile of pancakes sat on each.

“Enough talking, eat. No more arguing, we don’t have fights in this house.”

Quackity huffed, turning to the plate of pancakes in front of him, taking a small bite, unsure of how he was going to finish even one, let alone a whole plate. He sighed again, it was just his luck that he was now roommates with George. 

He did not let his head hit the table. He was mature and kept it upright, not allowing his forehead to hit the table.

Who was he kidding, his face hit the table straight on, smacking into the wood as he groaned in frustration.

George just flicked an ear at him, completely ignoring him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos make me smile and comments make my day.
> 
> [My Discord](https://discord.gg/7gzqTy6xUJ)
> 
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/InkyStarss?s=09)


	2. Chapter 2

Quackity pushed his pancakes away are two bites. He didn’t feel very hungry anymore, the small amount being enough to fill him up.

“Not hungry?” He shakes his head at Sam’s question, shifting slightly as the gas mask remained turned in his direction. He felt like the man was looking at him, but he couldn’t know for sure, the mask covering any notable features of his face, like his mouth and eyes.

He sat at the table, fiddling with his hands as he swung his legs back and forth from where they hung. His feet didn’t quite reach the floor from the tall stool he sat on. He rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension that had built up there. His wings hung limply behind him, the feathers shifting uselessly as he moved his shoulders.

Sam watched as he sat there, George still eating beside him. He slowly slid off the stool, setting his feet down on the floor and watching Sam for any kind of hostility towards his movements. There are none, so he turns and begins to walk away.

“Quackity?” He freezes mid-step, turning to look over his shoulder to Sam, “Can I speak to you in a minute?”

He stares at Sam for a moment, slowly nodding his head. He begins to back away again, intending on going back to the room he had been given. Sam lets him go this time, turning to the food on the table in front of him and pushing his mask up.

Quackity walks down the hallway, ignoring the small shuffling sound behind him as he opens the bedroom door. He turns around as the shuffling stops, glancing down at where Fran is stood by his feet.

She’s wagging her tail, her mouth open in a large grin, pink tongue lolling out of the side of it. He watches as some drool slides out of her mouth, dripping onto the floor. He winces slightly at the small, disgusting glob in the carpet.

He turns back to the room, entering, he turns to shut the door, but Fran won’t move out of the way, her body jammed in between the wood and the doorframe. He sighs, pushing it back open and allowing her entry. She bounds into the room, instantly leaping onto the bed. She shakes, fur floating around her like some kind of cloud of dust. He watches it settle on the sheets, clumping together in small masses.

He had never been around full dogs, ones that weren’t hybrids, much as a child, so he really hopes this isn’t the way he finds out he’s allergic to them. He sits on the edge of the bed, eyeing Fran warily, shifting further onto the bed, watching as she shifts backwards, allowing him more room.

He sits cross legged, staring at her as his wings hang down, resting against the side of the bed as they hang towards the floor. He stares the dog down, watching her right in her small black eyes, watching the way she huffs every now and again, her large body moving with the momentum it creates. He watches her raise her paw up, placing it on his knee.

He stares down at the fluffy, grey paw. He puts his own hand over it, barely covering the massive foot with his own hand. It doesn’t really surprise him, the dog comes up over his waist, more than half his height standing on all four paws.

She just stares at him through the curtain of hair, her eyes blinking slowly at him. he blinks slowly back, just watching her face, zoning out as he stares at the fur. He strokes her head absentmindedly, barely listening as he hears her tail thump on the bed, a slow rhythmic beat.

“I see you’ve made a friend.”

He jolts, head twisting around, neck cracking from how fast he moves it. Sam is stood, leaned against the doorframe. He tenses up, withdrawing his hand from where it’s tangled in the fur on Fran’s head, unsure on whether he’s meant to be touching the dog.

Sam walks further in, shutting the door over behind him, leaving it open a crack. He doesn’t know how he didn’t hear it opening in the first place, normally intensely aware of his surroundings.

“Can I sit down?” Sam gestures to the end of the bed, mask held in his other hand. Quackity nods, not really understanding why the man is asking for permission to sit down in a room in his house. Sam takes a seat, perched right on the edge of the mattress.

He stares at Sam, watching the small pinpricks of red dart about in his eyes, looking around the room before settling on Quackity’s face. The man sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly. Quackity draws back, wary of what happens after someone sighs like that. He watches the man carefully.

“How are you doing?”

It was such a broad question, he didn’t know how exactly to respond. He didn’t want to tell the man anything, drawing in on himself, wary of any information that he could give. He knew if he gave away too much it would be turned on him, used against him. If he told the man about his wings, he would probably get shoved off a cliff at some point in the near future, the creeper hybrid testing whether his wings were as fucked up as he claimed.

He analysed the man, “I’m fine.” He knew the man in front of him knew it was a lie, he knew it was a lie, but he didn’t back down, remaining resolute in his lie. He sat stock still, back tensed and shoulders rigid. His wings hung behind him, still completely useless, barely responding to any movements he made.

Sam didn’t move at all, he didn’t even reach forward, remaining sitting on the end of the bed. Quackity watched as Fran moved closer to Sam, pressing her nose into his palm, her tail beginning to wag again as Sam rubbed a hand along her head.

“I just want to help you,” Quackity almost scoffed at that, only keeping it internal because he didn’t want to upset the man. Sam just watched him, his eyebrows creased, a picture of concern on his face.

Sam leaned a bit closer, Quackity barely able to stop himself from shrinking back, watching the man in front of him. Sam stopped, a hand raising slightly as he looked towards Quackity. He sighed again, pulling back.

“Look, I know your wings are fucked up in some way, I don’t know how, but I know it can’t be comfortable. Just let me take a look.”

Quackity just watched the man, eyes narrowing as he tried to discern why he was doing this. Maybe he had run out of feather quills? Felt like grabbing a few more from his wings? He shuffled slightly, turning around so that his side was facing Sam. He watched as the man moved towards him, hands stretching out in front of him.

He moves slowly, looking up at him every few seconds. Quackity tensed up even further as Sam’s hand made contact with the feathers on his wings. He shivers as the man slowly pulls his wing away from its locked position on his back, easing it from where he had it positioned.

He winced as a bone cracked, the sound echoing slightly. He gritted his teeth at the pain, hands flexing as it gets pulled out to its full length, the ends of his feathers past where Sam was sat, the man twisting his back and holding onto the wing, supporting it as he moved it.

He remained tense as Sam ran his fingers over the feathers, feeling along the top of the wing, along the main bone, pausing and frowning a few times as he did so. He began to push it back in after a while. Guiding it back to its previous position. Quackity watches as he does this. He watches the way he handles the delicate wing, pushing it back into position. He feels the joints lock up slightly again, the wing remaining in position even as he removes his hands.

“When was the last time you used them?”

That wasn’t the question he was expecting.

“Uh,” he frowned, trying to remember when it actually was, “probably before the election? A few weeks before that probably.”

Sam frowned at him again, Quackity drawing away from his hand, moving himself out of his space, retreating back into himself. Sam pulls his hand back, placing it back on his lap, stroking over Fran’s head with the other.

“Hm, I suspected that.” Quackity has no fucking clue what that means.

“The muscles have begun to waste away in your wings, the bones are extremely close to the surface, closer than they normally are. It suggests mistreatment and a lack of use.” Sam maintains eye contact with him as he speaks, watching Quackity’s face. 

“Why did you leave them like that for so long?”

Quackity definitely did not want to talk about that, shaking his head and keeping his mouth firmly shut. Sam sighs at that, standing from the bed. He doesn’t say anything else, moving from the room, Fran following after him. He looks back to Quackity once, sending him a small smile, pulling his mask on and shutting the door behind him.

He feels his comms buzz from its place on his wrists. He ignores it, falling face first into the soft mattress and laying there. He feels it buzz a few more times before dying out, whoever was trying to get a hold of him giving up. He lies, face planted firmly in the soft duvet, allowing himself to slowly sink into it. He closes his eyes, wanting to get some more sleep, still tired. He doesn’t care that it’s barely past the time to be awake, he’s going to sleep.

He jumps as his door bursts open, the person entering not even bothering to knock. He hears them stride over, sitting heavily on the bed by his shoulder. He squints at them through slightly blurred eyes, making out the shape of the person, then the goggles on their head. He drops his face back down into the duvet.

“Go away George,” his voice comes out muffled, half of his words probably not making it to George’s ears.

“No. Sapnap is sending me worried messages about someone,” he puts emphasis on that, “going missing and not turning up for, a picnic breakfast?”

Quackity groans, not even bothering to sit up from the bed, rolling over onto his wings, ignoring the way they protest at being crushed under his weight. He brings his wrist up to his face, tapping twice on the comms screen to open it up.

The hologram flickers to life in front of him, the text clearly indicating several ignored messages from Sapnap, one from Karl. He sighs again.

“What did he say?”

“He said, and I quote, ‘do you have any clue where Q is, he’s gone missing, no one knows where he is. He’s missing our fake date, sad face.”

He pulls the messages from Sapnap up, quickly reading through them as he does so, the messages going from calm to all capitals and short. He can tell Sapnap gave up after the seventh message, stopping any attempts.

About five minutes the message receipts show that Karl sent him one, a short sentence, a simple ‘Where are you’.

He groans again, bringing his arm over his face, the hologram flickering away as it deactivates. He lays there for a moment, listening as George taps away on his communicator, the screen making a few tapping noises as he hits the keys.

“Okay. They’re on their way over here with the picnic, apparently they’re not letting you escape that easily.” George laughs at that, “Good luck with them.”

He abandons Quackity then, sauntering from his room, still laughing as Quackity lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling, re-evaluating his friendship with George. He came to the conclusion that he didn’t know why they were still friends, that George was just there and annoying.

He heard someone walk to his door, their footsteps heavy. They knock once before pushing the door open. Sam stands there with his mask on.

“There are two mysterious men at my door,” he can hear the smile from under Sam’s mask, “should I let them in? They say they bring offerings of food.”

Quackity rolls onto his side, relieving his wings of his weight, facing towards where Sam is stood at the door. He narrows his eyes at the man, “Sure, let them in.”

Sam turns away from the door, leaving it open as he strides away, down the hallway. He hears a few clicking pistons, the sound of redstone activating bouncing off the walls and echoing into the room. He hears two voices greet Sam. He hears three sets of footsteps approaching his room.

He took the few seconds he had before they entered to feel guilty. He felt bad for essentially ignoring them the whole time he had been in power, the whole time he had been vice president. It wasn’t his fault that Schlatt found a reason to constantly have him at his side though, he couldn’t tell him no, he was his partner and his boss.

He hears someone burst into the room, footsteps moving closer. They stop suddenly, a person practically dumping themselves on the bed beside him. He looks up, coming face to face with Karl. The man is grinning down at him, ears perked forward as his eyes shine. Sapnap walks in more slowly, carrying a basket in his arms, held close to his chest.

Sapnap sits down on the rug beside his bed, settling and crossing his legs, looking up to him once he’s set the basket aside. Quackity watches as Sam appears in the doorway, looking in for a moment before closing the door. 

Quackity sits up, moving slowly, watching as Karl shifts back slightly, giving him more space. Sapnap smiles at him from his seat on the floor. Quackity shuffles back a bit, pressing his back against the wall and patting the space next to him for Sapnap to sit in.

The man stands up, making his way over to them, dragging the basket with him. He sits down with a small sigh, pushing his hair back from where it had fallen over his face, escaping his headband. When he pushes his hair back it exposes the small horns poking from his head, the ends slightly filed down to prevent him from cutting himself on the points.

“Hey guys,” he draws the word out, feeling slightly awkward when they both fix him with their stares, “how have you been doing?”

“I feel like we should be the ones asking that, where have you been this whole time?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings:  
> -alcohol mentions (also forgot that none of them are british, therefore cannot legally drink yet, but its minecraft so we're fine)  
> -implied abuse  
> -mentions of not eating  
> -brief moments of panic

Quackity shifted from side to side, not meeting their gazes as he cast his eyes down to his fidgeting hands. He forced himself to stop, lacing his fingers together and holding them still. They knew where he had been, he knew they knew, he had told them a few days before the election. He hadn’t had time for much other than that afterwards, too busy dealing with Schlatt’s increasing demands and the man’s growing possessiveness.

“I’ve been…busy.”

“Too busy to see some of your best friends?” Sapnap’s voice is accusing, his face probably worse. Quackity doesn’t look towards him, unwilling to see any negativity aimed towards him. His eyes remained trained on the plain white sheets below him, tracing over the gentle curves of the fabric, the way it rippled from where he had fallen on it, disturbing it from its previously neat position.

He looked up, hands reaching up to his beanie and pulling it down further on his head, securing it firmly in place. He only makes eye contact with them for a second, eyes darting away again before they pin him in place, staring him down.

“Yes. I was running a government.”

“We know,” Karl sighed, “but you weren’t even responding to any of our messages.” The man frowned at him, probably a ploy to make him feel worse than he already did. It worked, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leaned back against the wall.

“There was a no comms rule in the office, they were put in a box to be collected at the end of the day.” That much was true at least, Schlatt didn’t want them getting distracted from their incredibly important work. He had scoffed at that at the time, the most important things he did in a day was sign papers, nothing more.

“And after work? I know Schlatt isn’t a great person, but he doesn’t seem like the kinda dude to keep you working all hours.”

Quackity shifted again, not knowing when the small ‘breakfast picnic’ had turned into an interrogation. All they would need was a bright light to shine on his face and they would be set.

“I was busy then too.”

“Were you having a bit of fun, Q?”

Quackity winced at that, the small twitch hopefully barely noticeable underneath the large-ish clothes he was wearing. He doesn’t think smashing bottles, a crying and hyperventilating teen and hiding under desks is fun, but, what does he know. Neither of the two beside him notice his small wince, the small hitch in his breath. Barely noticeable, but there nonetheless.

“Sure.”

Sapnap leans over the side of the bed, opening the small basket he had brought with him and pulling a couple of bottles out. He hands one to Quackity. He turns the cold bottle over in his hands, stomach sinking as he reads the label that clearly states it’s alcoholic. He allows Sapnap to open it for him, flicking the cap away, into some other place in his room. He sighs, knowing he’ll have to scour the room for that later.

He held the drink in his hand, only taking a small sip when he notices Sapnap staring at him. He normally wouldn’t mind a bit of alcohol, having a small drink every now and then. Sapnap obviously noticed his unusual behaviour, watching him closely until he began to act more ‘normal’.

He sets the drink aside after the one sip, the feel of the cold glass under his hands making his stomach churn slightly, the mere thought of alcohol unsettling him. Sapnap seems to accept this, turning back to the basket and pulling a tin free, setting it down on his lap before prising it open with his fingers. He’s tempted to laugh at the man as he struggles to pull the lid off. 

The lid comes of with a small pop, the metal making a small twinge sound as it is bent out of shape slightly.

“You good there Sap?” Karl sounds like he’s barely stopping himself from laughing, a small wheeze escaping past his lips as Sapnap glares at him. Sapnap shoves the tin towards Quackity, ignoring Karl as the man laughs harder when he doesn’t respond.

Quackity peers into the tin, looking down at the baked goods stacked on top of each other, compacted into the small tin.

“You went to Niki’s bakery?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t we, she’s got the best baked goods around here.”

He nods slowly, pulling a small croissant from the depths of the tin, passing it back to Sapnap, fingers right on the edge. He pulls a bit of the flaky pastry from the food, putting it in his mouth and chewing it slowly, watching as the other two make their way through the tin, eating a numerous amount of pastries each.

He’s rather surprised at how many they eat, watching as they squabble over the last one. He’s barely taken a bite of his, the pastry sitting mostly untouched in his hold. He watches as Sapnap shoves Karl away, jolting back as the man gets shoved in his direction. He brings his knees up closer to his chin, narrowly avoiding the man falling on him. Sapnap crows, victorious, holding the last pastry for barely a second before beginning to eat it.

Karl grumbles, pushing himself back to a sitting position, right next to Quackity. He doesn’t move back to his original spot either, staying almost pressed up against Quackity, less than an inch between them. He offers him part of his pastry, tearing it off and holding it out as an offering. Karl eagerly accepts, hands closing around Quackity’s for a brief second.

He pulls his hand back out of the way quickly, shocked by how hot his hands had been. It had felt like it was burning his skin. He thought the only hot as burning person around them was Sapnap, the man literally born from fire. He stared at Karl, the other staring back with equally wide eyes, hand frozen around the pastry, holding onto it rather tightly.

“Hello? Am I missing something here?” Sapnap dissipates the tension, making them turn their attention towards him, away from each other. He grins at them, sharp teeth shining under the small amount of light in his room.

Karl turns back to him, maybe he hadn’t been as distracted as he thought, “Why the honk are your hands so cold Quackity.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, Karl looking over his face, eyes darting from side to side as he watched him. Sapnap was staring at him too, eyes boring right into his skull, eyes unblinking. He stared back at them for so long that his eyes began to blur slightly, their pupils changing from the soft rounded shape to a horizontal pupil. He blinks and the illusion is gone, both of them still staring at him.

“Uh,” he stammers slightly, “it’s cold in here?” He knows it isn’t.

“No, it is not. It is actually closer to boiling in here.” Sapnap’s eyes are still fixed on him, eyes seeming to look straight through him. It makes him uncomfortable, shifting from side to side. Sapnap’s eyes slide away from his face, moving towards something else. Quackity knows what it is as soon as Sapnap’s eyes lock on a position, staying steady in where they’re looking.

He brings an arm around to his back, shoving his wings in further behind him before pressing up against the wall, successfully hiding them from Karl and Sapnap’s eyes. Sapnap’s gaze doesn’t waver, moving back to his face instead, still just watching him. It’s creepy.

“Quackity,” he doesn’t sound angry, just worried, “I know you are able to move your wings without poking or shoving at them. What was that.” His words still scare Quackity, the avian watching the demon in front of him as he shuffles over to where he’s sat, coming much closer than he was personally comfortable with.

He draws back slightly, pressing himself up against the wall, ignoring the way his wings protest at the added weight, bones bending in ways they probably shouldn’t be. He watches as Sapnap brings his hand closer, squeezing his eyes shut as a raised hand clenched around various glasses rises, unbidden, in his mind. He forces his breathing to stay steady, breathing deeply through his nose in the way he had instructed Tubbo to multiple times.

He doesn’t open his eyes again for a few seconds, braced for glass shattering against him, shards potentially getting in his eyes. When it doesn’t happen, he opens them slightly, squinting at the now further away figure of Sapnap. He’s sat back on his heels, still just staring at him, watching him, unblinking, with his eyes.

He pulls his beanie down further, clenching his hands in the fabric, holding them there until he feels able to release it, bringing his hands down with a slightly shaky exhale. Karl moves forward next, inching his way across the sheets towards the corner Quackity’s pushed himself into.

“Can I hold your hand?” It’s such and unexpected request that Quackity just stares at him for a second, slowly raising his hand up, holding it in front of him. Karl closes his hands around his, shuffling slightly closer to make it less awkward for them both. When his hands close around his own Quackity almost gasps at how hot they are, almost pulling back out of instinct.

“You’re really honking cold.” Karl brings his hands closer to himself, pulling Quackity to the side slightly. He rights himself, remaining pressed into the small corner. He almost does pull away when Karl starts poking at his hand, turning to him to ask what the fuck he was doing. Karl was just holding his hand, poking at the knuckles, right on the top of the bone.

“You know Q, I don’t think bones are meant to stick out this much.” Quackity pulls his hand free from Karl’s grasp, pulling it back to his chest and pulling his sleeves over both hands, hiding them from view. Karl moves closer to him again, watching him carefully, as if he were about to bite him. He almost rolls his eyes at that, just watching as Karl inches closer until there’s an inch between them.

He stops there, settling himself back against the wall, just sitting, legs out in front of him, beside Quackity. Sapnap moves next to Karl, much closer to him than Karl was to Quackity. They sat there in silence for a few minutes. He can hear Sam moving around doing something, either talking to himself or Fran, because he doesn’t hear any reply.

He can hear George next door, talking to someone, a small crackle and a tinny voice, coming from what sounds like a communicator. He hears a long wheeze, George’s own laugh joining it, pausing the conversation for a moment.

He decides against listening, not wanting to listen in on any conversation the man is having. Karl seems to have decided to strike up his interrogation again, turning to Quackity, he readies himself for a conversation. 

“Your hands are a lot more bony than I remember them being.”

He huffs, “You don’t get a bunch of time to eat whilst in office, it’s either work or fall behind and never catch up because you went for lunch or breakfast or even dinner.”

“That,” Sapnap looks to him, “is not healthy. At all.”

“You learn to cope.” He shrugs, brushing their concern off, unsure on what else he’s meant to do. He looks away as their faces contort into expressions of sympathy and pity, not wanting to receive any kind of pity from them, unwilling to accept it. He doesn’t need it, there’s nothing to pity.

“Take your jumper off.” He jerks his head back around to Karl, staring at him incredulously, wondering if he just heard him right.

“Gosh Karl, take me to dinner first, won’t you?” He tries to joke, but it falls flat, the two looking at him unimpressed by it. Karl begins to reach towards him, intent obvious on his face.

Quackity moves backwards, out of his reach, scooting away over the bed until he’s right on the edge. His wings drag beside him, nigh useless with how little he can move them without pain. He watches Sapnap’s eyes zero in on the dragging feathers, watching as his wings drag along the duvet, useless lumps of feather and flesh attached to his back.

He looks up to Quackity, the worry in his eyes more obvious than before. Quackity moves back a bit too far, falling off the bed and landing flat on his back. He wheezes as he lands, groaning as he rolls onto his side, pushing himself from the ground. Sapnap was halfway stood up on his bed, looking like he was about to make his way towards him.

Quackity scrambles to his feet, standing with his back to the door and keeping his eyes trained on the two in front of him. Sapnap steps off the bed, socked feet making a small sound of impact with the floor as he does so. Quackity stands still, watching as the man approaches.

He can see his eyes dart to the wings that hang heavy from his shoulders. They’re still locked in position, the bones unmoving as he stands still. Sapnap’s eyes return to his face, bringing his hands up and approaching him slowly as if he’s some kind of wild animal.

He folds his arms over his chest, watching, unimpressed by how cautious Sapnap is. The man reaches him, stood a few inches in front of him, hands lowered to his sides.

“We just want to check on you Quackity.” His tone is soft, as though it’s supposed to be soothing. He huffs again, rolling his eyes as he folds his arms tighter over his chest.

“Please?” Karl was suddenly at Sapnap’s shoulder, looking over it towards him. His ears are perked forward, eyes tracking his. He sighs, much heavier than before. He pulls his arms away from his chest, glancing at them once before he begins to pull the jumper off. He does it slowly, hoping that they’ll just give up and leave him alone.

He pulls his wings from the slit in the back, allowing them to hang down behind him again once he’s done. He holds his beanie to his head, pulling the jumper off as he ensured the hat stayed on. He wraps the jumper around his arm, holding it close to himself, unwilling to let go of it.

The shirt is thin, tight-fitting, clinging to his frame. He shivers slightly, the air around him colder without the warm jumper. He draws his shoulders up, ignoring the looks of pity that crossed Karl and Sapnap’s face. He knew he was in a pitiful state, he didn’t want any kind of pity though, he hated any kind of pity, seeing it as a waste of everyone’s time.

“Quackity…” Karl sounds sad, his face showing that he felt that way too. Quackity brings his head back up, ready to start having a go at him.

“I know it’s bad,” he didn’t shout, he rarely shouted anymore. He didn’t like it, “I know it’s bad, but I didn’t have time to care, and neither did anyone else.”

He doesn’t realise he’s shaking until he’s finished talking, his frame racked with waves of shivers. He pulls the jumper back over his head, not bothering with the hassle of his wings, letting them hang from the bottom from the jumper. It’s not like there’s any risks to them suddenly flaring open and ripping the material.

Karl takes a step towards him, and he lets him. Watching as Karl slowly approaches. He opens his arms for a hug, and Quackity flinches back from the sudden movement slightly, expecting a harsher response to his fear.

He watches Karl for a second, watches as the man remains stood there, arms slightly open, welcoming him closer. He takes a hesitant step forward, expecting the offer to be withdrawn and a cruel laugh and sneer chucked his way. That doesn’t happen, Karl stays stood there, a small smile remaining plastered on his face.

He takes a step forward again, and he’s within arm’s reach. He feels Karl gently tug him closer, tensing up as he feels his arms go around his back, expecting fingers to begin to tear at feathers, ripping them from his back, leaving him to bleed, expecting him to clean himself up.

He doesn’t, he just holds him close in a warm embrace, his hoodie soft against Quackity’s face as he holds the back of his head, pressing him closer to Karl. He allows himself to be hugged, slumping further into Karl as the man remains standing, leaning most of his weight on him. He feels one of Sapnap’s arms wrap around him, holding him close, but not tightly. His hands don’t dig into his shoulder, keeping him pinned in place, indicating when he should talk and warning him when he speaks out of turn.

Their hands remain soft in the hug, holding him close, not seeking to hurt or threaten him as they hold him. He feels tempted to tear himself away from their hug, remove himself from their comfort, keep himself independent. But he doesn’t, remaining held in their embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i fucked the timeline up, we are going to pretend that the white house gets torn down a week before the fedtival rather than the day after.  
> its for the plot.


	4. Chapter 4

He pulled free from the embrace when eh began to feel uncomfortable, carefully disentangling himself from between their arms. Sapnap and Karl remained hugging for a moment longer before they realised that Quackity had slipped free.

Karl turned back towards him, looking at him in a sad way. Quackity ignored the look he was giving him, not being guilted into hugging him again. He can still hear Sam clanking about in his workshop, sounding like he was messing around with metal and redstone, a clicking sound being followed by a few metallic sounds.

He tugged his beanie down over his head further, taking comfort in the familiarity of the hat and the worn fabric under his fingers. He releases it from his hold, brining his hands down to his sides, self-conscious of the habit. Schlatt had never liked when he would fidget, whether he was tugging on the hat, picking at loose threads or wringing his hands.

Karl sat back down on the bed, bouncing slightly as he landed with weight, the mattress springing back up beneath him. Sapnap sat next to him as well, leaning himself up against Karl. The other didn’t seem to mind, lifting an arm to allow Sapnap to move closer.

Quackity stands and watches as they both watch him. Karl beckons him over, patting the large space beside him, offering him a spot. He sits down slowly, wincing as his wings move out of the locked position, every muscle and bone protesting at the movement. He grits his teeth together, sitting down fully. Karl watches him from the side of his eye.

“You good?”

“Yep, just fine.” He smiles, but he’s sure it comes out as more of a grimace. He twists around, pulling his wings through the slit in his jumper, he pushes the wing bothering him back to where it was before, shoving the bone back until it clicked, the joint locking in position.

“So,” he turns back to Karl, watching the other as he seems to form a sentence in his mind, mouth opening and closing a few times, “how’d you end up in Sam’s base?”

It’s a simple question, the answer even simpler, but he’s not exactly sure that it would be painless to reveal it, that kind of open honesty would be like exposing his whole inner workings.

“Things got,” he hesitated, “complicated. Back in Manburg.” 

“Complicated how?”

Quackity swallowed, eyes darting down to his lap, realising he had been picking at a loose thread. He curled his hands into fists, bringing his legs up and tucking them underneath him. He looks up and Karl is still waiting for an answer.

“Things got a bit sour between me and the president. They had been for a while, but he instructed people to tear down the whitehouse. That was the last straw for me.”

“So, you just left?”

“No, well yes, but also no. He kicked me out, but I was leaving anyway.”

“He exiled you?”

“No?” He didn’t know why they weren’t understanding it, “He just told me to leave, he probably expected me to be back by now.”

“Why would he expect you to be back?” Karl just seemed to be getting more and more confused despite the more Quackity explained. His explanations seemed to confuse the other more.

He hears Sam’s work stop suddenly, completely freezing, leaving the surrounding area quiet. In the silence he realises that George is no longer talking, having gotten off call with whoever he had been talking to.

He hears boots walking down the hallway, the heavy tread making his heart began to stutter despite knowing that it’s only Sam. The creeper hybrid knocks on the door once, poking his head in as he pushes it open. He’s wearing a welding mask instead of his normal gas one, probably to protect his face from whatever he had been doing.

“Quackity? Can I borrow you for a moment?”

He nods as he stands from the bed, feet landing softly on the rug beside his bed. He follows after Sam as the man walks down the hall, entering his workshop. Quackity follows behind cautiously, unsure of whether he’s allowed in there. Sam is stood beside a bench, something bronze and gold resting on it.

He makes his way over to the bench, peering down at the melded pieces of metal. He looks back up to Sam, no clue on why he’s being shown the weird pieces of metal. Sam seems to have expected this, lifting one half, because apparently it’s in two parts, into his arms.

“Turn around.” Quackity doesn’t really know what else to do, turning around so his back is facing Sam. He feels Sam begin to pull at his wing, twisting away from him and turning his wings away from Sam, protecting them from any further damage.

Sam takes a step back as well, the bronze and gold almost toppling out of his arms. He’s glad it doesn’t, not wanting to deal with Sam being annoyed at him because he caused him to beak something. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam begins to apologise, he pushes the mask up, revealing his face underneath, “I probably should have warned you about what I was about to do. Let me try again?” The man looks genuinely sorry, a look of guilt painted across his face.

Quackity is reluctant to trust anyone near his wings after what happened last time, but he also feels an obligation to trust Sam, the man had given his resources a bunch of time, providing him with items when he needed them the most.

He turned his back to Sam, allowing the man to pull his left wing out, fiddling with whatever he was holding. He felt something latch onto the main joint of his wing, causing him to almost jump away in surprise again. He doesn’t, only jolting slightly from the surprise contact.

He feels another thing connect to the base of his wing, right where his wing joins his back. He feels and hears a bone pop back into position, the crack sending a wave of relief through him as it fixes something he didn’t know was wrong. He feels another bit of cool metal attach to the end of his wing, just above where his feathers end. He twists around, trying to see what Sam has done.

“Give me a second Quackity,” he sighs, and if Quackity was listening right, it sounded almost fond, “I need to do the other one first.”

Quackity turned around, feeling him pull his right wing out, a few bones crackling as he does so. He feels him repeat the process, the metal clipping onto certain parts of his wing, leather underneath the part it touches his wing with to cushion it, as Sam does something. He feels the last bit clip on, a small bone in his wing clicking back into position.

He feels Sam step away from his back, so he twists around, trying to see what he had done. He couldn’t tell from his perspective, unable to look directly at his back from over his shoulder. 

“You should be able to move them now, that’s the whole point.” He glances over to Sam as he speaks.

He trusts him, bringing his wings up, tucking them neatly, checking for any pain with the simple movement. There isn’t any, leading him to believe Sam. He brings his wing around to his front, scanning over the undersides of his wings. Not much has changed there, just a small, flexible piece of metal running along the top of his wing, settling nicely over the top of his wing bone. He brings it lower, allowing himself to look over the top, to the outside of his wing. This shows where all the metal went. 

Small metal feathers are laying over the top of his own, sheltering the more delicate ones underneath, protecting them from harm. If he looks closely enough, he can see small bits of redstone running between the feathers, connecting to each one.

He looks back to Sam, “What’s the redstone for?”

“It activates something.”

That doesn’t reassure Quackity on its safety, “That doesn’t sound very safe.”

“It’s perfectly fine, it just activates a small, modified crossbow hidden within each metal feather.”

“You gave me fucking weapon wings?”

“I wouldn’t phrase it that way, you can just, shoot small, sharp and deadly projectiles whenever you please. It has infinity on all of them, meaning you don’t need to reload it or anything. They activate when you flick the wings in a certain way, you just gotta fling them open really fast, wingtips pointed at the sky,” He shoots Quackity a look, “Do not try it in my house, I want to minimise property damage.”

He begins to list things off about them, “You should still be able to fly, I chose gold and copper for that exact reason, they’re light but sturdy metals. Don’t dump them in lava, they’ll melt. They’re waterproof, deal well with high and low pressures, so you can go deep in the ocean with them and high in the sky. The leather pads mean you can probably get away with sleeping in them for a night or two, I don’t recommend it though. They also support your wings, the bones themselves looked a little off, as if they’ve healed incorrectly more than once.”

They have, but Sam doesn’t need to know that. He broke his wings a lot as a child, jumping off of buildings trying to fly before he was ready. He had broken them a few times in his youth, each as painful as the other. Those had all been healed correctly, set in a cast and given time to naturally heal.

The problems had arisen when he joined this world, the constant conflicts meaning he didn’t have time to let his wings naturally heal, let alone reset the bone perfectly. His bones were rather fucked up because of this, the joints cracking whenever they went too long without movement. Schlatt hadn’t cared about how delicate his wings were either, just throwing a health potion in his direction and hoping for the best. He’s pretty sure that’s how they got so fucked up in the first place.

“Thank you, Sam,” he meant it genuinely, giving the older a small, but genuine, smile.

“Least I could do, can’t have my new roommate in pain constantly. Go back to your friends,” he urged, “they’re probably waiting for you.”

He nods, turning on his heel and exiting the workshop. He makes his way back down the corridor, hearing Karl laugh as Sapnap murmured something. He made sure to walk loudly, announcing his presence before he enters. He comes in to find Karl lying on his back, head in Sapnap’s lap as the other speaks to him.

They both turn to face him when he enters. Karl’s eyes are drawn instantly to his wings, widening at the sight of the gold on them. He sits up quickly, almost knocking Sapnap in the jaw with his head, the man barely manages to dodge out of the way, bringing his head backwards quickly and shooting him a half-hearted glare. Karl just pushes his head to the side slightly, laughing at the way it sours Sapnap’s expression even more.

Quackity doesn’t completely understand how he can do that, the man is obviously annoyed, but Karl doesn’t seem to fear any repercussions from his actions, almost as if he’s not scared of Sapnap doing anything to him. He pushes the door shut behind him, hearing the small latch click into place, securing it closed, but not locked.

Karl turns back to him, “You have gold on your wings!”

“I do.” He shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, watching Karl as he bounds from the bed, bouncing over to him, tail wagging slightly in excitement. He only falters when he gets within a foot of Quackity, glancing down to his face before continuing on towards him.

Karl comes close to him, taking permission to reach out and touch his wings. Quackity jerks them back out of the way, glad that it doesn’t send a painful jolt down his back and along his wings. He pulls the feathers out of the way, taking a short step back.

He hadn’t expected Karl to reach out like, thinking the man would only want to look closer. He tucks his wings closer against his back, hiding them, and the gold, almost completely from view. He sees movement from the other side of the room, Sapnap standing and walking towards where he had been seconds before, just in front of Karl.

Quackity took another small step backwards, shuffling towards the wall, taking the solid presence behind him as a protection from any grabbing hands. 

“Quackity?” he looks back to Karl, turning his attention away from Sapnap. He hadn’t noticed before how the two seemed to tower over him, both at least a few inches taller than him, if not more. Karl takes a step forward, his shadow seeming to loom forward, casting him in darkness as he approaches.

He takes another step back, unwilling to be left in his shadow for long. Even as he takes a step backwards, wings brushing up against a smooth wall, they don’t seem to move further away, they seem closer, their bodies looming over him, towering above him as he presses up against the wall. He slides down it slowly, trapped in another place, pressed up in the corner of his small office, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol washing over his face, warmth breath blasting against it.

He hits the ground with a soft thud, curling up slightly. He hears hurried footsteps approaching him, but they go straight past him, the sound of a door opening echoing through his head. He doesn’t hear anyone else move for a bit, the hurried footsteps retreating down the hallway.

He hears boots thudding along the ground, two sets this time, towards him. He gasps slightly, his chest constricting from a lack of oxygen. When had he stopped breathing? The short gasp seems to do little for him, phantom pains of ripping and tearing scattering over his wings, old, long healed cuts seemingly opening up, the small sparks of pain bursting through the feathers, traveling between each one like electricity. 

He sees a gloved hand appear in his immediate vision, the leather black and worn, small holes appearing in places. He looks up, following the arm back to its owner. Sam stares back at him, mask off. He feels like his face should unnerve him, the inherent weirdness of someone’s eyes being pure black, the only way to see where they were looking small pinpricks of red. He didn’t think that though, he just thought he looked kind.

He looks past Sam, seeing Sapnap and Karl stood a few metres behind him, close to the opposite wall. They were both looking to him every few seconds, eyes darting away and staying fixed somewhere else when they made eye contact.

He focused back on Sam, watching as the man carefully pulled one of his hands from the side of his head, away from where he had been subconsciously tugging his beanie down further, covering his ears even more.

Sam enclosed his own hand around it, the leather soft against his skin. He pulled it towards his chest, placing it on there, he breathed in and out once, watching as Quackity did the same. He began to breathe slower, his breaths slowing, he hadn’t even realised they had sped up. He only stutters a few times, sucking in a lungful of air too soon, resetting what they had done, needing to start over.

He hears a few thuds, echoing through the base, he jumps at the sound, surprised by the sudden loudness. Sam doesn’t turn away from him, “Can one of you two go answer that?”

Quackity watches as Sapnap hurries from the room, sending him a quick look, Karl isn’t far behind, exiting the room behind Sapnap.

“You better now?” Sam sounds worried, sympathetic.

“Of course I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

Sam looked at him, unimpressed, “You just had a panic attack on the floor.”

“Exactly, perfectly fine.” He chuckled, hoping to laugh the whole thing off. Sam didn’t laugh and his joke, if you could even call it that, fell flat, right on its face, embarrassing him.

He shifts slightly, readjusting his position, making it more comfortable. He leans forward slightly, relieving the small bit of pressure from his wings. He hears people coming back down the short hallway, presumably Sapnap and Karl. They’re talking in low voices, too quiet for him to hear anything they’re saying.

Him and Sam watch as they re-enter the room. Sapnap walks slowly over to Sam, holding a small book in his hand. He hands it to Sam without a word, watching as he opens it reading its contents. Quackity shuffles around, leaning into Sam’s personal space slightly, hoping the man wouldn’t mind. He was grateful when he turned the book towards him, allowing him to better see the writing inside. 

His stomach drops at what he reads, slightly less grateful about being able to read it properly. It’s an invite, to a festival, addressed to him, Sam and George. It meant that Schlatt knew where he was, he wouldn’t write his name on an invite to his ‘grand festival’ otherwise.

He hadn’t even known they were having a festival.


	5. Chapter 5

Quackity shook his wings slightly, still staring at the book Sam had clutched in his hands. He can see the leather spine bending slightly, warping the position of the pages.

“What day does it say it’s for?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Oh,” He swallows, unsure of how to feel about that. It said it was a mandatory invite, meaning that he had to go. He didn’t particularly feel like being on the receiving end of whatever would happen if he didn’t go. He didn’t want to find out either.

“You get something?” He looks up to find George leaned up against the doorframe, looking into the room. The cat hybrid sends a small wave to Sapnap and Karl, who just smile back.

“Yeah, an invite to the Manburg Festival.”

“A festival? Didn’t know we were having one.” Quackity rolls his eyes, George may have been slightly involved with the government, didn’t mean he had any clue about what they were doing, ever. He slept through most of their meetings.

“I don’t think anyone did.”

“Does it say who’s gonna be there?” He moves closer, entering the room. He bends down, peering over Sam’s shoulder. His eyes flick across the page, the slits in the middle of them widening as he reaches the end. He pushes the goggles down over his eyes, looking back up to them, “Just citizens of Manburg? I don’t think me or Sam count as citizens of Manburg anymore, we’re part of a whole other thing now.”

“I think it’s just to show off that he’s doing much better than Wilbur, if I’m being honest.”

George hummed, glancing back down to the book again, “That could be the case, the country has been doing pretty well, and I bet Wilbur and Tommy will be there, even without an invite. Schlatt probably knows it too, salt in the wound.”

“The country is doing better than ever, and he knows it. He probably sees it as something to hold over Wilbur’s head.”

“I mean, we probably all would,” George conceded, glancing away from the book, looking over to where Sapnap and Karl were stood. Quackity follows his gaze, landing on their slightly shocked faces. He smirks, “What’s up with you two?”

“I didn’t know you both knew so much about politics.”

Quackity feels slightly offended at that, “We were both running in the same campaign, if that idiot over there,” he nods in George’s direction, ignoring the small squawk of indignation the other made, “didn’t sleep through the election we probably would have won. We had the best policies there.”

“I honestly thought you were just running as a joke.” Quackity turns his offended look to Sapnap, quirking an eyebrow at the man, “Schlatt formed a coalition government with me for a reason. He knows I ain’t no pussy bitch. I know my way around politics and law.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that now. You just never seemed like the person to be interested in that.”

He sniffs, turning towards Sam and George, “You hear the bullshit these two are spouting?”

George nods solemnly, a small grin trying to make it past his lips. He smooths his expression over, remaining impassive as he looked over to Sapnap and Karl. Sapnap crosses his arms as Sam nods as well, agreeing with Quackity. Karl doesn’t seem to take much offence, nudging Sapnap with his own shoulder, knocking him slightly to the side. Sapnap stumbles, unfolding his arms to regain his balance.

Quackity watches as Sapnap retaliates, nudging Karl harder than he had been nudged. Karl just full-on shoves him, sending him toppling to the ground. He watches in interest as Sapnap grabs the hem of Karl’s hoodie, tugging him down with him.

He watches as the two wrestle on the floor of the room, rolling around a bit. He stands, Sam rising from his crouched position as he does so. Him, Sam and George watch as the two make absolute fools out of themselves. He watches Karl headbutt the other in the chest, winding him.

Karl struggles out of Sapnap’s hold, planting a foot on his chest. He doesn’t press down though, doesn’t watch on with a sharp grin, amusement crinkling the corner of his eyes as he sees how many ribs he can break. He just holds his foot there, showing his victory off. Quackity turns his head away, preparing himself for a sickening crack as Karl began to push down.

It doesn’t come though, he watches Sam refasten his gas mask on his face, only turning back once he hears two laughs again. Karl has helped Sapnap up, the other not clutching at his ribs, not giving away any injuries. He’s confused but brushes it off, glancing over to Sam.

The creeper hybrid is just stood watching the two, he feels like he’s being watched too, but can’t tell with the mask in the way. 

“It’s getting rather late, would you two want to stay the night?”

Quackity’s confused, glancing over to him, they had eaten their breakfast picnic less than two hours ago, at most it would be lunchtime.

“What time is it?”

“It’s like, five.” George replies for Sam. He didn’t expect it to be that late, but looking out of the window confirms it, the sun steadily sinking towards the horizon. 

“How late did I wake?”

“Around the same time George normally does, so probably around twelve, maybe one.”

He didn’t know how long he had slept for, but it was longer than his usual five hours. Sapnap and Karl still haven’t responded, but they’re no longer talking either. He turns back to check on them, only to be met with two gazes trained on him. They watch his movements, making him reach up and tug his beanie down further.

Sapnap’s eyes dart to Sam, “Would we be able to sleep in here?”

“That’s up to Quackity, it’s his room after all.”

Quackity blinks a few times, shocked that they seem to want to stay in here with him, despite there being only a small single bed, he was also shocked that Sam had called it his room, he knew he had slept in it once, but he didn’t think that meant it belonged to him.

He glances between the two, eyes quickly flicking away from Sapnap’s eyes, “Uh, sure, they can stay in here.”

“Okay, I’ll go grab you some spare mattresses, I don’t think you’ll want to sleep on the floor, it’s not very comfortable.”

Quackity suddenly realises that one household member is missing, Fran nowhere to be seen, he hadn’t seen her in the workshop either when he went in there, but that was understandable, Sam probably didn’t want her near any dangerous machinery.

“Hey Sam? Where’s Fran?”

“She’s in my room.” He did not expect George to respond.

“Why is a dog in your room?”

“She likes me, and I find her company decent, she gets to stay.”

Sapnap decides to be really smart, “Aren’t you like, meant to hate each other.”

George turns towards him, disappointment obvious in the set of his shoulders, “You’re playing into stereotypes again Sapnap, I can stand in the same room as Karl, a whole dog isn’t much different.”

“I don’t know whether I should be offended you just called me no different than a dog or not.”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” George tosses the last comment over his shoulder, sauntering out of the room, tail flicking slightly as he disappears down the corridor, back down towards where his room was, further down.

Sam leaves as well, presumably to go find some mattresses, or something, for Sapnap and Karl to use. Quackity turns back to the two, standing on the other side of the room from them, feeling slightly awkward.

He turns away from them, wings flicking slightly behind him as he feels their gazes land on his back, on his wings, on the gold on his wings. He moves over towards the bed, sending his comms a quick look before opening it, sending Sam a quick message. He receives a thumbs up in reply.

He goes about pulling his duvet from the bed, dumping it on the floor with a small thump. He chucks the pillows on top of it, watching as they sink into the small pile.

Sam returns quickly, tugging a mattress under each arm. He dumps them on the floor of Quackity’s room, lining them up with where his bed was. He then begins to pull numerous duvets from his inventory, dumping one of each mattress with a pillow and blanket.

He continues to pull duvets from his inventory, dumping them at his feet, allowing the pile he had formed to grow larger.

“Thanks Sam.”

He pulls the first one off the top of the pile, turning away as Sam leaves the room, door shutting behind him. Quackity arranges the duvets painstakingly slowly, making sure the arrangement is perfect, laying them carefully over each other and tucking and loose ends back into the small mass he had created.

He leaves a small divot near where his head would be, allowing him to look at the door if necessary. He finishes with the duvets, turning back to the small pile of pillows he had. He dumps them all inside the nest before climbing in after them, crouching, his wings hanging off the edge as he tucks them into place, surrounding the inside with them before placing two near to the small entrance. He sits back on his heels, satisfied with what he had done.

He turns back to the rest of his room, tensing up slightly as he sees Karl and Sapnap, both sat staring at him from one of the mattresses. They hadn’t even put the duvets on properly, just left it where Sam had dumped it, same with the blanket and pillow.

“Uh, hi?” He was slightly confused, not understanding why they were staring at him like that. He turns back to his bed, then twists around to face them, sitting down on the edge, allowing his feet to touch the carpet below his bed.

“Why did you do,” Sapnap waves his hand in his direction, “that.” Quackity looks back to his bed, eyes drifting over the small nest he had made for himself. He turns back to them, “Never met an avian before, huh?”

“Of course I’ve met an avian, I’m friends with you.”

“But you’ve never been in my room have you.” He quirks an eyebrow at Sapnap, chuckling slightly to himself as the demon hybrid goes a bit pink, eyes darting away from his.

“We make nests,” he explained, patting the sheets, “they’re more comfortable for us to sleep in, no wings hanging over the edges of the bed. They’re mainly designed to be communal sleeping spaces as well, but,” he pats the sheets again, looking down at them before back to Karl and Sapnap, “just me. Only avian on the server.”

“Why didn’t you settle on a more avian dominated server then? Surely that would be preferable?”

He shook his head, “I have no avian friends, so I went where I had friends, avian or not. We’re more rare than you’d like to think.”

Karl’s eyes sadden at that, becoming rounder, “Have you never met another avian?”

“I mean, I met my family, if that’s what you mean. Other than that, nope. Don’t really mind though, I’m sure that an avian will come along at some point.”

He jumps at a knock on the door, George poking his head in, goggles returned to their normal spot on his head. He watches as a fluffy head forces the door further open, allowing Fran into the room. She bounds over to Sapnap and Karl, sniffing at Karl excitedly before turning to Sapnap.

“Sam’s made dinner, he told me to come fetch you.”

Quackity steps from his nest, making his way around the mattresses on his floor and over to the door, he glances back to Sapnap and Karl, who seem intent on playing with the dog.

“You coming or not?”

His question seems to make them realise where they are, standing up instantly, Karl stroking Fran one more time before heading over to the door. Fran follows after him, apparently choosing her new favourite person, sticking by his side the whole way down the hallway, towards the small kitchen. 

A nice smell hits him as he enters, heading quickly over to the table, eager to see what Sam has made for them. He seems like a decent cook. Curry and rice are sat on the table, he sits down where he had sat that morning, reaching for a bowl and serving himself.

He eats slowly, enjoying the food as he watches the other settle down around him, beginning to eat their food as well. It’s spicy, but not too spicy, the flavours combining together nicely. He finishes quickly, having taken a smaller portion than everyone else. He pretends he doesn’t see the subtle nudge that Sapnap gives the rice container, pushing it slightly towards him, as if trying to get him to eat more.

He doesn’t, already feeling like he’s eaten enough. He waits for the others to finish their food, picking at the end of his sleeve, fidgeting in the silence that has fallen over the table as they eat. He feels a warm weight press up against his leg, looking down to see Fran poking her head from under the table, resting her chin in his lap. He gives her a small stroke, scratching behind her ear. She seems to like it.

He hears someone push their chair back, watching as Sam stands, clearing the dishes from the table, collecting everyone’s plates. Quackity pushes his chair back as well, going to help Sam before he was waved away.

“You look dead on your feet, go to bed, try and sleep.”

He nods, turning, before twisting back around, “Can you show me how to remove the brace?”

“I wouldn’t take it off for a few more days, it’s helping your bones to realign, at least partially. Give it two days and I’ll show you then.” He nods, turning and leaving. He can understand Sam’s reasoning behind it, he had fucked his wings up pretty bad.

He enters his room, walking into absolute chaos. Sapnap is stood, threatening Karl with his pillow. Karl is holding one as well, smacking him straight in the face and running away. Quackity sighs, dodging under the pillow thrown at Karl, walking straight to his bed and crawling into it. 

He doesn’t think he’s going to get much sleep that night.

…

He was right, pulling himself from his bed, stepping carefully over where Sapnap and Karl had collapsed a few hours prior. He would wake them up in a bit, they had a festival to get to after all, but he was having a coffee first.

When he entered the kitchen Sam was already there, Fran by his feet. He pushes a mug of coffee towards him before he can even ask. He clasps it between his hands, hunching over it as he smelt the miracle liquid. He took a small sip, downing the whole cup when he realised it was a good temperature.

He sets the cup down, thanking Sam before striding back to his room. He slams the door open, making Karl and Sapnap both jolt awake, blinking tiredly. Sapnap instantly buries his face back in his pillow, groaning. Quackity just gives him a small nudge in the side, pushing him until he rolls off of the mattress.

Sapnap rolls onto his back, glaring up at Quackity. He feels no sympathy for the person who had kept him up multiple hours into the night.

“Get up, we have a festival to attend.”

He turns around, Karl already up and moving around. He watched as the dog hybrid made his bed. He looks over to Quackity before pulling a smarter set of clothes from his inventory and moving to a corner, facing the wall as he changed.

Quackity realises he’s just wearing a jumper and pair of sweatpants. He leaves the room quickly, wings shuffling behind him as he walks back to where Sam was.

“Do you have any other clothes I can borrow?”

Sam turns to him, “Yes, there should be some in the wardrobe in your room.”

He returns to his room, pulling the thick oak door on the wardrobe open. When Sam had said there would be some in his wardrobe, he had not expected it to be stuffed full with a bunch of different items of clothing.

He rifles through the clothes, landing on something that caught his eye and pulling it out. It was pretty formal, he liked it. There were already slits on the back, making him wonder when and where Sam had gotten all of these clothes from.

He pulls the shirt on first, pulling the charcoal trousers on next, tucking the shirt into it. He tucked his wings through the jacket, pulling it over his shirt properly and fastening it. He turns to the full-length mirror beside it, turning from side to side as he admired it, scanning over the deep blue of the jacket, the way it went nicely with his wings.

He turned back to the rest of the room, seeing that Karl and Sapnap were both already ready, dressed in semi-formal clothes. They were both staring at him. He tugged his beanie down before walking out of the room, knowing who he was going to wake next. When he enters George’s room, he’s already awake, dressed and ready to leave. He’s wearing something similar to Quackity, the jacket a lighter blue than his, almost shiny with how bright it was.

“Good morning,” George drawls, looking over his shoulder at him, goggles perched on the top of his head, right between his ears. He blinks slowly at him, quickly scanning up and down his body. He smirks, “What did Karl and Sapnap think of that?”

Quackity looks down at himself, confused about what he meant, “They just kinda looked at me. Nothing more, why?”

George snickers, waving him off, “Nothing, nothing.” He brushes past him, beckoning for him to follow as he exits the room. He follows George back to his bedroom, standing awkwardly in the doorway as George corrals them into leaving. They do so quickly, making a quick detour to the kitchen to collect Sam and a bite to eat.

They leave quickly, heading through the nether portal to get back to Manburg quicker, wanting to be on time. Quackity takes the few minutes they have whilst heading over to wonder how Tubbo’s been doing. He feels a little guilty for just leaving the kid, feeling a slight responsibility towards him as a stepfather. God knows Schlatt is a shitty dad.

They exit the portal, significantly closer to Manburg than they were before. They make a short walk to the gates, entering with little hassle. They make their way towards the city centre, presuming that’s where most of the action is happening. Quackity looks around once they reach it, taking in the nicely done decorations and festival games scattered around the city centre.

He sees a small blur booking it towards him, watching as it quickly approaches their small group. He braces himself for the impact, only slightly staggering as the human being collides with him, arms wrapping around his middle tightly.

His wings flare out slightly, mostly from instinct. He quickly tucks them back as people look over in surprise. He pats Tubbo on the head, feeling slightly awkward from all the eyes on him. He makes sure to avoid the small horns only just poking through the skin, knowing that they would be sensitive.

“Hey Tubbo, how have you been?” He knows what the answer will be before Tubbo responds, the tight hug he’s being given answer enough.

“He’s been fine.”

A large hand claps onto his shoulder, making him flinch and glance upwards, towards Schlatt. The man towers over him, at least a foot on him in height. He has that same wicked grin on his face he always has, eyes glinting slightly as he looks down to Tubbo.

“Glad you could make it, wouldn’t want you to miss Tubbo’s speech now, would we?”

It feels like a threat.


	6. Chapter 6

Quackity nods slowly, not looking away from the man’s sharp gaze, maintaining eye contact, staring straight into his horizontal pupils. Schlatt unclasps his hand from his shoulder, moving Tubbo away from him, pulling at his shoulder and dragging him over towards the stage.

“Have some fun!” He called over his shoulder, “Have a look around, take a good long look.” He turned his head to the side, grinning at Quackity as he pulled Tubbo away. Quackity watched them go, watching as Fundy joined the two of them, hesitantly glancing back to him as they disappeared around a corner.

Quackity swallowed, shuddering slightly. He shook his wings slightly, dissipating any tension that had built up there while he had been watching Schlatt. He turns back to the people he was with, each watching him with varying degrees of concern. He grinned at them, hoping to brush their worry off, “Well, you heard him, we should probably have a look around.”

Sam nods first, soon followed by the other three. Sapnap grabbed Karl’s arm, pulling him off in one direction. Quackity follows after them, confused when George snickers slightly, sending the man a weird look.

He chases after Sapnap and Karl, hurrying along as they bounce from stall to stall, barely pausing as they move between each one. They chatter excitedly, Quackity only occasionally participating in the conversation, content to look around the city, at all the decorations that had been scattered around.

Sapnap and Karl come to a stop in front of what looks to be a dunk tank. There are multiple people gathered around it, Fundy right at the front, shouting to whoever is in the tank. Fundy is becoming obviously agitated, his tail swishing behind him, people watching as he complains. Quackity peer through the crowd, watching someone who looks extremely comfortable whilst being completely submerged in water, a lid over their head.

It’s Technoblade, the piglin hybrid reclining comfortably in the water, full netherite gear glimmering in the light blue. He seems to be able to breathe, as if he were an ocean-born hybrid rather than a nether-born. Quackity could almost laugh at how frustrated Fundy was getting.

He watched in slight amusement as Techno pulled his trident from his inventory, aiming it upwards and shooting from the tank, dislodging the lid with how fast he propels towards it. He lands gracefully, boots hitting the ground with a small thud, cape swishing behind him as he turns around to face them. He grins, barely damp from his prolonged stay in an over-glorified fish tank.

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by the crackling of speakers. Everyone turns their gazes upwards, despite there being nothing in the air. They listen as Schlatt instructs them to return to the main stage for his welcoming speech. 

They file back down the cobbled streets, moving swiftly along them, back towards the city centre. Quackity falls into place beside Sapnap and Karl, walking alongside them as they walk back. He receives two smiles as he joins them, sending them a small one back as he walks with a few inches between them, keeping out of their way. Just in case.

The area below the main stage is lined with chairs, organised it neat and orderly lines. People take their seats, leaving barely any free as they clumped together in their small groups, watching as the ram hybrid walks on stage, Tubbo trailing a few steps behind him.

Fundy bursts onto stage a few seconds after them, apparently running late for Schlatt’s speech. It’s a basic speech, barely worth anything, just the normal greeting anyone would give someone for showing up to something, whether you were a teenager late for class and showing up high on drugs and sleep-deprived, but the teacher still appreciates you’re there, or the way old people congregate.

It bores him slightly, going on for longer than necessary. Schlatt eventually gives the go away cue, everyone standing from their seats in unison, most likely eager to get away from the mind-numbingly boring speech that Schlatt had just spouted. Quackity doubted that was even planned, the man sounded like he was spouting shit the whole time, talking straight out of his ass.

He had seen Tubbo grimace at the speech, so he was pretty much sure that none of it was planned, and more than half of it was a lie. Nonetheless, they were freed, allowed to roam the decorated area, looking around all the stalls.

Sapnap made a beeline for the boxing ring, challenging anyone in the area to fight him. Techno accepted his offer, pulling his armour off quickly and dumping it in the conveniently placed enderchest. He hops over the side of the small arena, landing in a fighting stance, facing Sapnap.

The longer he watches their fight, the less sure he is that either of them actually know what boxing means, let alone the rules of it. It turns into more of a brawl, Sapnap shoving his shoulder in Techno’s gut, throwing the piglin backwards. People cheer them on, seeming to enjoy the violence. Quackity turns away, wincing slightly when he hears flesh connect with flesh, dull thuds echoing around the small arena.

As he turns around, he sees Tubbo approaching, the boy slowly looking around the area, as if looking for someone, before his eyes land on Quackity. He perks up, his ears lifting as he hurries over to him. Quackity sends him a small smile as he draws closer, giving him a small wave.

Tubbo reaches his arms out towards him, wordlessly asking for a hug. Quackity complies, allowing Tubbo to wrap his arms around him. He covers them both slightly with a wing, hiding Tubbo from any prying eyes that might happen to look away from the boxing match.

Tubbo looks up at the movement, eyes being drawn towards the metal frame on his wings. He doesn’t try and touch them, knowing already that it’s not something you do.

“What are those?” He speaks quietly, voice soft, not drawing attention to himself.

“They’re wing braces,” Quackity’s reply is just as quiet, not wishing to draw attention to himself, “they help keep the bones aligned from where I fucked them up. Sam made them for me.”

Tubbo looks at them for a moment longer, “They look cool.”

“I would hope so, I spent a while designing them.” They both jump at Sam’s sudden appearance, turning slightly to face him and George, who seem to have made their way from some kind of food stall, small paper bags gripped in their hands. Tubbo steps away from him slightly, releasing Quackity from his hold as he watches the creeper hybrid hesitantly.

Sam offers him one of the bags he’s holding, allowing Quackity to take it from his grip and peer inside. A couple of baked goods are individually wrapped, each prepared with care. He pulls one out, offering it to Tubbo before pulling out one for himself. He unwraps it carefully, taking note of the insignia that tells him it’s from Niki’s bakery. 

He bites into it, the flaky pastry flaking away and crumbling as he eats it. He few flakes make their way onto his shirt, quickly brushed off by a sweeping hand. He finishes it quickly, the small pastry disappearing fast. He smiles at Sam, thanking him wordlessly for the small treat. 

Tubbo quickly eats his, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing it quickly before swallowing. Quackity smiles fondly at the younger, watching as he grins to him. He doesn’t hear anyone come up behind him, only realising someone’s there when they place a hand on his shoulder.

He knows instantly who it is, the heaviness of their hand and the hand itself a large giveaway. It’s Schlatt.

“I’m sure you’re having fun distracting my right-hand man, but he’s got a speech to perform.” He moves over to Tubbo, standing behind him and putting a hand on each shoulder. He watches as Tubbo’s shoulders move up minutely at the contact, one of his ears twitching slightly, as if trying to flick away an annoying fly. 

He watches as Schlatt steers Tubbo away, calling out to those still at the boxing arena to congregate at the stage. People wordlessly do so, seemingly used to following Schlatt’s orders now, none of the resistance they would give him during the first part of his reign, obeying his every command.

Quackity follows behind them, comforting Sapnap over his loss to Technoblade. He doesn’t know what else the man had expected, he was one of the best fighters of their generation for a reason. Karl seemed to agree with Sapnap that Techno had cheated, Quackity didn’t doubt that, having watched the piglin chug a strength potion when he thought he was out of sight, but he was pretty sure he would have won anyway.

He sat down beside Sapnap, in between him and Techno, sending the piglin a small smile before looking back to the stage. He watches as Schlatt steps onto stage, Tubbo beside him. Fundy is already on the stage, sat in the vice president’s chair. He watches as Schlatt takes Tubbo’s seat, gesturing towards the microphone stand, right in front of his throne.

He watches as the man turns towards Fundy, sat right next to him, sending him a small grin. Fundy grins back in his usual fashion, looking back to where Tubbo is lowering the mic stand, about a head shorter than Schlatt.

“Hello!” He sounds cheerful, grinning down at all of the people.

“I’m, uh, gonna start the speech part now.” He laughs, eyes flicking from side to side, looking slightly nervous, “A wise man once told me that Manburg was like a lettuce. There are so many layers of tasty and healthy goodness, and once you wash off all the caterpillars and worms off the surface, it’s a pretty goddamn good meal.” He grins down at them, proud of himself for his speech so far.

Quackity’s eyes dart over to a building on his left, watching as two figures move along the top. He knew they wouldn’t be able to keep away.

“Schlatt has successfully washed all of the insects off our great nation. And with that he’s allowed the goodness and tastiness to shine through.” Quackity can appreciate a good metaphor, and Tubbo’s really just taken and run with the lettuce one. It’s interesting to say the least.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like you to look around,” he spreads his arms wide, gesturing to the festival decorations around them, “at what we’ve built today. Look at each other! All of this, thanks to democracy, and the leadership of JSchlatt.”

A few claps go around the area around him, applauding his speech. Tubbo seems to grin impossibly wider, looking incredibly pleased with himself. As he should be, he had done well with it, remained confident despite all of the eyes on him.

“And isn’t that what this festival’s all about? Democracy. Our people have been beaten down by royals, and by dictators, for so long. Now we are finally free. Free to elect who we want, free to live how we want, and most importantly, free to go wherever we want, without the confine of those huge black walls.”

Quackity knows that last part is a lie, he had sat with Tubbo as the boy cried at their destruction, holding him close as he lamented the loss of the only connection he had to his old country.

“With that in mind, I’d like to thank everyone for coming to this wonderful event.”

He watches as Tubbo freezes, watches as he turns to face Schlatt, the older laughing from where he was sat, lounging across his seat.

“What’s wrong with that?” Tubbo sounded hurt, confused, glancing from the crowd back to Schlatt. 

“No, it’s just, I was just thinking about it, Tubbo.” He turns to face Tubbo. Quackity can’t see his face, but he can imagine the look he’s sending his way. 

“Yeah, I always like to have fun.” He stands from his seat, making his way over to the side of his throne, the one Tubbo was stood in front of. He leans against the carved blackstone, watching Tubbo with a small grin.

“Yeah we,” his voice falters halfway through, “What’s up?”

“You got anything else in the speech?”

“Uh no, I, uh, let the festival begin!” He sees a look of panic flash over Tubbo’s face, the teen quickly glancing over to the rooftop Wilbur and Tommy are crouched on. Quackity narrows his eyes. He knows they’re there.

“Alright, alright.” Schlatt tips his head to the side, the light catching on his horns, making them shimmer like some kind of cursed halo around his head.

He flicks something behind him, a small click echoing through the city centre, nobody moving as the sound of redstone working begins to filter through the air, making its way towards their ears. He watches as Tubbo looks up in a panic, all of them watching in horror as something drops from the ceiling.

It’s bright yellow, eye-searingly so. It encases Tubbo completely, the concrete landing with a loud thump, trapping Tubbo inside it. Quackity feels himself begin to tense up, looking to either side of him, trying to see if anyone knew what was happening.

“Schlatt?” Tubbo sounds terrified, his voice shaking as he presses up against one side of the box, trying to push his way out of the box. It doesn’t work, “What are you? What are you doing?”

“It’ll be fun,” He can hear the grin in his voice, watching in slowly mounting horror as the man comes to a stop just beside the cage he’s trapped Tubbo in. The small yellow box that he has trapped his own son in. His own flesh and blood, and he’s put him in a yellow box.

“Wait, Schlatt,”

“I’ll cut to the fucking chase Tubbo,” he snaps, snickering slightly, the small sound expanding and filling the air around all of them. He snickers at the way Tubbo cowers back from him, it fills Quackity with a kind of rage, shaking slightly in his seat, wings barely staying pressed to his back as he watches in pure fury as Schlatt traps his own son. His son too, technically. He had been given equal rights when he married the awful man.

“Schlatt? I can’t get out.”

“Tubbo, I know what you’ve been up to.” It sends shivers down Quackity’s spine, presuming Tubbo felt the same as he quivers in fear, ears lowered, almost pressed flat against his skull.

“What have I, what are you talking about?”

“What have I been up to,” Schlatt mocks him, turning his voice scared and shivery, turning to his audience, as if he expects a laugh from them. He’s met with stony silence, the only person seeming to take amusement from it is Fundy, who’s watching with a small grin as the scene in front of him plays out.

“He’s been conspiring!” Schlatt rounds on Tubbo with a shout, almost leaning into the box through the small window with how close he got to Tubbo.

“With the idiots! With the, with the, the tyrants! That we kicked out of this nation, our great nation! I don’t know if you know this Tubbo,” his smile is sickly sweet again, turning to face his audience slightly, watching them from the corner of his eye, “but treason, isn’t exactly a respectable thing around here. I know what you’ve been doing. It all adds up.”

Quackity watches, fear coursing through his veins and anger fizzling under his skin, barely contained.

“Do you, uh, do you know what happens to traitors, Tubbo?” 

“No?” Tubbo sounds unsure in his own reply.

“Nothing good,” Schlatt turns to the audience fully, “Hey, Technoblade? You want to come up here for a second?” The piglin stands from his seat beside Quackity with little hesitance, walking up to the stage, walking up onto it confidently. He comes to stand beside Schlatt, his posture relaxed, a look of boredom in his eyes as he surveys the crowd below them before turning to Tubbo, facing the boxed in child behind him.

“Good afternoon Tubbo.” His greeting is monotone, uninteresting, as if he isn’t facing someone who has just been outed for treason. He reasons that the piglin already knew about it, Wilbur being his brother, and Techno being on his side.

“I want you to take him out Techno.” 

Techno startles, looking to the president beside him.

“I know you have that fancy crossbow, pull it out.”

Techno does so, the crossbow already loaded, the string pulled back. He begins to aim it towards Tubbo, Quackity watching as his hands tremble.

He stands from his seat, beginning to stride down the middle aisle, headed towards the stage. He goes unnoticed as Schlatt begins to goad Techno into shooting him. he walks up the stage, slowly, as not to attract any attention from the people on the stage.

He can feel everyone else’s eyes on him, watching as his feathers ruffling up, approaching Techno as he releases the projectile, allowing it to shoot into the small, contained area. 

He shoves himself forward, trying to push Techno away from the box before it can fully go off. He still hears a cry of pain, pulling out his sword as Techno fumbles. The man doesn’t seem to find his sword in time, pulling a netherite pickaxe out instead, throwing it up in defence, protecting his face from where he slams his sword down.

Techno catches his sword with his pickaxe, trying to pull it away from him. He keeps his grip, holding onto it as Techno stands properly, twisting his pickaxe away from Quackity’s sword, raising it high into the air. He doesn’t have enough time to react, he doesn’t have enough time to block it, distracted by a small cry of pain behind him.

He glances to the side, looking back to where Schlatt is stood, in front of the small window of the box. His wings flare out, completely missing as Techno’s pickaxe approaches the left side of his face. He feels it make contact with his face, just above his eyebrow, slicing down his face.

He feels it rip through the skin. He feels it travel down his face. He feels it rip through his lip. He feels the cool metal pull away from his face. He blinks once, trying to clear the blood from his vision. He can’t see clearly out of his left eye, the blood flowing too fast to try and stem it.

He doesn’t bother, not feeling the pain yet. He staggers over to Schlatt, raising his sword and using it to threaten Schlatt. When that doesn’t work he brings his fist around, knocking him in the side of the jaw, sending him to the ground, out cold.

He flicks the small lever, watching as the box collapses, pulling back up into the ceiling. He pulls Tubbo from the floor, holding him close, against his chest as his head begins to spin.

He watches the festival below him descend into chaos, Techno going around letting off several shots, fireworks exploding below them. He can see the raw skin on the side of Tubbo’s face, the left side peeling slightly, the skin burnt from where he hadn’t been quick enough.

He watches Tommy leap from the top of a building, running away from them, rather than towards. He had expected the boy to come after his friend, to run towards him and check over him. He doesn’t, taking off in the direction of the docks.

He watches him go, feeling more and more light-headed as the seconds trickle past. He brings a hand up to his face, pulling it away wet and sticky. He stares down at the red coating his palm, watching as the liquid coats his fingers, slowly sliding down his wrist.

He looks up at a gasp, seeing Sapnap stood right in front of him, Karl just behind him. He grins at them, “I’m fine, see. No pain.”

He hits the ground with a dull thud.


	7. Chapter 7

Karl watched in horror as Quackity crumples to the floor, giving them a small smile just as he reassured them he was fine. He obviously wasn’t fine, a large chunk taken out of his face, the pickaxe ripping through his skin and down his face.

He watched as the blood continued to drip from his face, gathering in a puddle on the floor. Tubbo is held securely against him, his wings wrapping around the younger tightly, shielding him from everyone else. Fundy has disappeared, he ran off with Schlatt when Techno started his rampage around the nation.

He feels himself get pushed aside, stumbling slightly into Sapnap. He watches as Sam approaches the slumped form of Quackity, pulling the man up. Sam struggles only slightly, adjusting the avian’s wings to allow him to hold him up better.

Karl watches as Tubbo begins to stir, blinking his eyes open and twisting slightly. He watches as Tubbo begins to try and get up, failing to orientate himself correctly. Karl walks over to him slowly, offering a hand. Tubbo jolts as his hand appears, as if he hadn’t seen him approach. Tubbo turns towards him completely, allowing him a better look at him.

He has third-degree burns all along the right side of his face, stretching over his nose. One of his eyes is shut, blood slowly trickling down from where it is, a gory kind of tear, sliding down his face and leaving a trail of red behind. He offers his hand again, watching as Tubbo just stares at him for a moment, squinting with his open eye.

He places one hand in his open palm, allowing Karl to pull him up. Tubbo stumbles instantly, legs shaking underneath him as he tries, and fails, to stand correctly. He tugs the ram towards him more, allowing him to lean more on him. He struggles slightly under the weight, making his way slowly down from the stage into the abandoned town centre.

Sam is ahead of the, already at the other side of the square, heading towards the Manburg portal. Karl hurries after him, Tubbo limping beside him. He feels a bit of weight be taken off his shoulder, looking over to where Sapnap is helping Tubbo on his left side. They make their way after Sam, practically carrying Tubbo.

Sam is stood beside the obsidian frame, Quackity being held, chin on Sam’s shoulder, wings dragging behind him as Sam holds him close to his chest. When he sees them approaching, he steps into the swirling purple magic, allowing him to be warped to the other dimension. Karl hurries after him, not wanting to be left too far behind, worried for his friend. Him and Sapnap drag Tubbo along. He looks back and realises the teen has fallen unconscious again.

Sapnap seems to notice too, bracing himself and pulling Tubbo into his arms. He easily holds the younger, much stronger than Karl could hope to be. They hurry through the portal, significantly quicker now they don’t have to pull Tubbo along with them, able to move at their own quick pace. Sam is already gone, headed down the bridge.

Karl feels like he’s being forced to do a lot of hurrying, but as he passes a few splotches of blood, he can understand Sam’s haste. They walk over the hot cobblestone, the bridge sturdy below them as they venture across the golden lava. He watches as the magma bubbles pop below their bridge, sending a few drops of the molten liquid into the air.

He can hear the wail of a ghast in the distance, speeding up slightly, unwilling to be shot at. They push past a few zombie piglins, making their way further down the bridge, following all the complicated twists as it leads back to Sam’s portal, shortening their travel by a whole day. The miracle of other realms.

By the time they reach Sam’s portal the creeper is already gone, leaving no trace that he had been there apart from a few drops of Quackity’s blood. It’s already dry, the shiny, sickening sheen all dried blood has, the iron tang rising into the swelteringly hot air around them. Karl pushes ahead, wanting to be out of the hot environment. 

The magic of the portal is cool on his skin, the magic washing over his twisting and swirling his vision, tinting it purple as the enchantments skitter across his skin. He watches the nether swirl before him, small particles distorting his vision.

It disappears within a second, bringing him back to the overworld. It’s cooler here, a light rain beginning to drizzle down, darkening the skies as the sun reaches it peak. For so early in the day so much has already happened. They had barely had a festival, an hour at most, maybe an hour and a half, speeches included.

He looks back to Sapnap, making sure he’s beside him before making his way back to Sam’s base. The lever has conveniently been left in view, allowing them to enter and close it behind them. He feels his comm buzz, pulling it out of his pocket to make sure it wasn’t anything important.

“Move out of the way,” George steps in through the sliding door, completely and utterly soaked to the bone. He’s dripping wet, indicating to Karl that the rain had begun to come down harder. He looks annoyed, ears pressed flat against his head as he drips, creating a sizeable puddle on the floor.

They step out of his way, allowing him to move past them down the hallway. He looks unharmed, just annoyed. Karl glances down to his comms, tapping once on the screen to open it up, bringing the hologram up in front of him.

He only has one message, it’s from Sam.

“He says he’s down this hall, into his workshop then down the stairs,” he reads out, telling Sapnap, “He says he wants to see Tubbo down there too.”

“Okay. Where’s his workshop?”

“Down this hallway?”

Karl walks down the hallway, poking his head in through the first door he finds. It looks like a workshop, several benches scattered around the room, various pieces of metal and tools lying abandoned on the tables. It’s messy, but organised.

He walks in, assuming that this was the workshop Sam was telling them about. He glances back to Sapnap, who is still holding onto the passed out Tubbo, the ram hybrid out cold in his arms. His suit is torn in several places, singed in others from having a firework go off within such close vicinity to him.

There’s a small, circular staircase tucked into one corner, the spiral leading up and down. Sam’s message had told them to go down the stairs, so he does, not attempting to see what’s up them, respecting his privacy despite wanting to know.

They descend into a well-lit basement. It wasn’t what Karl was expecting, he was fully expecting it to be damp and dingy, the walls made from blackstone bricks and obsidian. It’s not, instead it’s a pale white quartz, the smooth stone coating the walls and turning to a blackstone and quartz checkerboard floor below their feet.

It smells clean, disinfectant permeating the air, the smell catches slightly at the back of his throat, making him cough lightly at the harsh feeling of it. Sam is stood beside a table, Quackity laying spread out on that table. His wings are on either side of him, falling off the table slightly, wingtips brushing the floors.

The golden feathers contrast highly with the black and white, a small splash of colour against the monotone hues. Sam is bent over him, dabbing at Quackity’s upturned face with a small cloth. He can’t see Sam’s face, but he can see the slight tremble in the man’s fingers as meticulously cleans Quackity’s face.

Sam turns to face them as they enter, scanning them up and down before gesturing over to another table thing. He turns back to Quackity after that, leaning further over him. He can’t help but feel the gas mask must get in the way, preventing him from getting too close. Sam seems to realise this too, pulling it off his head quickly, allowing him to move closer to Quackity and be more careful.

He puts his hand out to the side, grabbing a roll of bandages. Karl moves over to stand just behind his shoulder, looking around him to see Quackity.

He looks pale, his skin almost as white as the quartz surrounding them. There’s a long, ragged gash down the left side of his face. The wound has stopped bleeding, any traces of blood wiped away by Sam. It leaves the cut open and pink, too small to need stitches, but too long to be unnoticeable. It would probably scar.

He watches as Sam begins to bandage Quackity’s head, wrapping the white fabric around his head, covering the whole left side of his face, concealing the injury behind the layers of bandages. One of Quackity’s hands has dried blood on it, the red long since dried. Karl looks around for whatever Sam used to clean his face, finding a small rag in a bowl of water. He pulls it from the lukewarm water, wringing out any excess water. 

He grabs Quackity’ hand, crouching down to reach it from where it’s dropped off the side of the table. He rubs any blood off of his hand, making sure there weren’t any injuries hidden under the thick coating of blood. 

The smell of iron reaches his nose, making him want to gag as it hits the back of his throat. He feels slightly sick, but continues to wash the blood away, scrubbing gently at the skin until no trace is left behind. He dumps the rag back into the bowl, turning around to where Sam is now checking over Tubbo.

He watches from a distance as he spreads some kind of cream over the burns, pulling his hand away slightly as Tubbo recoils from his touch. Tubbo is obviously more awake than Quackity. He looks back to the man, slowly sitting himself up on the table beside his head. Quackity hadn’t stirred, even as Sam plunged some kind of strong disinfectant into the wound. He was sure something like that would hurt, but Quackity hadn’t even flinched, he hadn’t pulled away from Karl when he washed his hand of his blood.

He slowly, picks Quackity’s hand up, watching his face for any sign of discomfort. There is none, the visible part of his face remaining lax.

His hand is limp in Karl’s, clammy and cold. It’s pale, barely any colour in his skin. He holds his hand tightly, trying to share some of his warmth with Quackity.

“Karl.” He looks up at Sam’s voice, meeting the small pinpricks of red that were his eyes. The creeper hybrid stared down at him, watching him closely.

“Do you think you’d be able to take him somewhere more comfortable? Quartz isn’t nice to sleep on.”

He nods slowly, watching as Sapnap appears behind him. He slides off of the table, shoes hitting the floor with a small thud. He turns around, picking Quackity up in the same way he had seen Sam do earlier. He struggles slightly, unused to manoeuvring around the wings, but he eventually figures it out, stumbling only once, tripping slightly over his own feet as he turns towards the stairs.

He makes his way up them, Sapnap following behind him. They make their way back through the workshop, out into the hallway and back down it. They meet George halfway down it. He doesn’t say anything, just sending them both a small smile. It speaks volumes, Karl instantly getting what he was saying, flushing a bright red as the cat hybrid saunters past.

He shoulders Quackity’s door open, entering the room. It had been left in a bit of a state that morning, a duvet strewn over the floor, a few pillows crumpled by the walls from where they had been thrown the previous night. He steps over the obstacles, quickly making his way towards the small ‘nest’ that Quackity made himself.

There’s a small entrance, a small dent in the walls surrounding the bed. He steps up through that, awkwardly manoeuvring himself through, barely avoiding unbalancing as one of his feet gets tangled up in the duvet lattice. He sets Quackity down on his front, staring at the gold and bronze braces on his wings. He doesn’t know whether he should take them off. He doesn’t even know how to, so he leaves them as they are.

He turns back to Sapnap, shrugging at the other, unsure on what to do next. Sapnap shrugs back, looking equally as confused. Karl lets out a small squeak as he feels something tug at his hoodie. He turns around as he topples slightly to the side, barely avoiding landing on Quackity as he catches himself with his hands.

“Did you just squeak?” Karl huffs as Sapnap laughs, “How did you even fall over, you were just kneeling.”

“Something tugged me.” He turns around, finding Quackity still passed out, face-down in his bed as he had been before. He narrows his eyes, looking at the avian’s arm. He wasn’t sure whether it had been in that position before. He turned back around to tell Sapnap to be quieter when he felt another tug in the back of his hoodie.

He does fall over this time, flopping down heavily onto his side. He narrowly avoids landing on Quackity’s wing and breaking the complex looking machinery on the brace. He has no clue why a brace needs redstone, but this is Sam, he’s not even going to ask.

That same wing extends from its semi-folded position, draping itself over him, trapping him under the warm weight. He twists his neck to face Sapnap. 

“He is still passed out, right?” Sapnap sounds unsure, stepping closer and peering at Quackity’s face. He seems unable to see his face properly from where it’s twisted to the side. He steps into the small nest, stepping gingerly over Karl and Quackity’s legs as he makes his way around to Quackity’s face.

“He’s still completely passed out,” Karl doesn’t believe him, and Sapnap doesn’t sound like he believes himself either. He lets out a small huff of surprise as he gets pulled down as well. Despite being fast asleep he still seems to be incredibly strong.

“What the fuck, how is he doing that whilst completely out cold?” Sapnap peers over to him, also trapped under one of his wings.

“I don’t know, I don’t why you expect me to.”

“If you’re passed out, aren’t you like, meant to not move?”

“You should feel honoured.” George’s voice reaches them from the doorway. Karl twists his head around to face the man, unable to do much more, the wing on top of him was honking heavy. George strides over to them, looking much more content than he had been earlier, wrapped up in a large hoodie. He doesn’t recognise it as one of George’s.

George sits on the edge of the bed, smirking down at them, the slits in his eyes narrow, goggles perched on top of his head.

“Avians have their nests as a familial structure, if you get invited into one as a non-avian, especially other hybrids, you’re stuck with that person for life.”

“How do you know that?” 

“I know a hybrid with a similar structure, trust me, I speak from experience, you’re not getting rid of Quackity now.”

Karl didn’t think that sounded too bad, Quackity was nice, when he wasn’t shouting things about drugs. And he was warm apparently, his wings like a nice blanket. He didn’t see the whole ‘stuck with him for life’ thing as bad, it was actually rather sweet.

He turned back to face Quackity, unable to see much of him at all, just his beanie and the back of his neck. He watches as a blanket gets draped over Quackity, watching as George pulls away. He hears the man walk away from the bed.

“Good luck with him.”

The door clicks shut behind him as he leaves. Karl doesn’t really care about what that means, still tired from how little sleep he had last night. The warm wings blanketed over him are practically begging him to go to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Quackity stirs slightly at noise above him. Hearing voices speaking quickly and in hushed tones. He tunes into the conversation.

“I’ll be back in half an hour, I just need to go check on something, someone.”

“Alright,” the person, Karl, sighs, “be quick.”

He feels movement beside him, a dip of the ground below him before it sprung back up, the weight being removed. He hears footsteps fade away. Someone lies down next to him, their weight warm at his side.

He doesn’t know why his had aches, one side of his face flaring with small sparks of pain every now and again. His body feels impossibly heavy, so he doesn’t try to move. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth, sticking to the roof of his mouth with how dry it feels.

He feels blurred at the edges, fuzzy. He gives up trying to cling to consciousness, allowing the lead weights to pull him back under.

…

Sapnap moved quickly, brushing through the dry undergrowth and making his way back to his house. He felt slightly guilty about leaving them for so long in his house. A twig crunched under his foot, the sound echoing through the barely lit forest. The sun is hardly above the horizon, the golden rays sweeping across the land, peeking between the tree trunks.

He makes his way towards his house, pushing the door open, allowing it to swing open on its squeaky hinges. They screech loudly, alerting whoever is inside to his arrival. He hears a tapping of claws on the wooden floors. They skitter over the planks, gradually coming closer as Sapnap walks further into the entry hall. 

He sees a small mass skitter around the corner, a small red blur hurling itself towards him. He feels small claws latch into his trouser leg, the small creature climbing up towards his shoulder. He feels it twist around onto the back of his jumper. He twists his neck around to watch it progress, smiling fondly at the small creature.

It comes to a stop on his shoulder, front legs gripping the fabric on his shoulder. The tail dangles over the back of his shoulder, swishing back and forth as it rubs its head under his chin.

He brings a finger up to scratch at the scales there, causing a small, rumbling purr to emerge from its throat.

“Hey there,” his voice is soft, “sorry about leaving for so long. I was busy.” The dragon seems unbothered, rubbing her small head along his chin, crooning as he scratches the scales. She flaps her small wings, a puff of smoke spiralling from her snout. He allows her to sit on his shoulder, making his way into the house and grabbing a small chunk of meat.

He hands it to her, allowing her to snatch it from between his fingers. He’s not scared that she’ll bite him, trusting her too much for that. She chirps happily, flapping her wings and lading forward more, asking for more meat. He complies, allowing her to eat the small chunks of meat he offers her.

He sets the container back into his fridge when she refuses the next chunk of meat, washing his hands quickly as she sits on his shoulder, watching what he does.

He looks up to her, then back down the hallway, considering. He walks out of the house, Kiwi perched happily on his shoulder. He walks faster than he had before, unwilling to get caught outside with the small dragon on his shoulder, aware of how small she was. He makes good time, the sun barely a quarter of the way into the sky before he reaches the stone wall again.

He knocks loudly on the door, waiting for it to be opened, allowing him entrance. It slides open after a minute, Sam stood on the other side. His gaze slides to the dragon on his shoulder, mask nowhere in sight. 

“No arson.” He turns and walks away, allowing Sapnap entry back into the home, shutting the sliding door behind him, concealing the base. He walks quickly down the corridor, his promise to Karl fresh in his mind. He was sure that he had been quick, and he doubted Quackity would be awake yet, he had barely stirred that morning, only shifting slightly to the side, the rise and fall of his chest the only thing convincing them he was still alive.

He pushes the door open, sending a small greeting to a tired looking George down the hallway. The man is stumbling, hunched over a cup of what he assumes to be coffee. He doesn’t know how he is always so tired despite being in his room most of the time, sleeping the days away. George sends him a small greeting, hurrying away quickly, shutting his door firmly behind him. Sapnap doesn’t bother to try and pick apart his friend’s weird behaviour, other thoughts on his mind.

Kiwi presses her snout up against his chin, scratching her scales along the skin there. It doesn’t hurt, she didn’t press hard enough against him for it to. He enters the room, still dark from where the curtains are drawn over the window. Despite the darkness he instantly notices the difference, the thing that’s wrong. 

“Karl,” he doesn’t bother to keep his voice down. Karl mumbles in response, turning over to face him, his hair covering most of his face, his ears flopping over his forehead. He looks barely awake, blinking a few times, pushing his hair out of his face. He watches as the dog hybrid looks around the room they’re in, obviously coming to the same conclusion as he had.

“Where’s Quackity?” Karl sounds confused, voice still thick with sleep.

“I don’t know, that’s why I woke you up.”

Karl blinks at him once, rubbing his eyes, “Sorry, is that a dragon on your shoulder?” He points to Kiwi.

“Yes, this is Kiwi. That doesn’t matter though, for all we know we have an injured avian stumbling around here.”

“He can’t leave though, right? He should be safe in here.”

“Depends how safe you think highly volatile sources of redstone are.” He watches Karl pale slightly, the other finally getting out from the nest. 

“I’ll go speak to Sam, you can go ask George.” Sapnap nods, watching as Karl bustles past him, still wearing the clothes from yesterday, Sapnap had changed before leaving, not wanting to walk to his house in clothes covered in explosives, knowing that if Kiwi sneezed he would probably explode.

He knocks on George’s door, waiting as he hears shuffling coming towards his door, he hears a one-sided conversation, assuming the man was on his comms.

George pulls the door open, poking just his head out, keeping the rest of his room hidden. His comm is nowhere in sight, not even on his wrist, meaning he wasn’t talking on it to someone. Either George has taken up the habit of talking to himself or there’s someone else in the room.

“Have you seen Quackity?”

“W-why would I have seen Quackity? He was with Karl last I saw, yep.” Sapnap knows George can’t lie for shit, watching as the cat hybrid fumbles for his goggles, pulling them down over his eyes as his ears twitch, shifting from side to side.

He sighs, “George. I know you’re lying, open the door.”

“No. He said he doesn’t want to see you right now.” George doesn’t even try to protest that Quackity is in there, allowing his lie to cave in on itself. 

“Why wouldn’t he want to see us right now?”

“Sapnap,” Karl turns the corner of the hallway, making his way down to where he’s stood at George’s door, “Sam said he hasn’t seen him, but he’s checking his workshop now, and he said he would lock it up afterwards, so he can’t get in.”

“Tell him not to bother, we found him.”

“Where?”

“George has him, he won’t let me in though, says he doesn’t want to see us.”

“He doesn’t, he told me.”

Sapnap gives up on trying to convince George, just pushing past him and into the room. He watches as Kiwi flicks George in the face, not hard but enough to sting. He chuckles slightly, looking around the room as he does so.

It’s darker than Quackity’s room in here, almost completely pitch black. He heads over to the window, pulling the curtains open, allowing the sunlight to flood the room. There is no one in here except for him, George and Karl.

“Huh?”

“He said he didn’t want to see you, so he’s not.” George crosses his arms, beginning to look annoyed, tail swaying back and forth, regarding him. He can feel his gaze, even from under his goggles.

…

Quackity wakes as he feels a sudden shift. It’s not one from the mattress around him. His stomach drops as he realises what’s happening. He pushes himself up from the bed, rolling off of it and hitting the ground lightly. There’s a large swathe of bandages over the left side of his face, messing up how well he’s able to see. He doesn’t try and pull them off, leaving them where they were. They obviously served some kind of function.

Just Karl is left in the bed, lying on his side, facing towards the wall. He feels a small shift again, the small amount of magic he has, the small bit that every kind of hybrid has, twisting slightly, wrapping itself up.

He staggers slightly, moving over to the door and pushing it open. He stumbles again at another jolt. He makes his way down the hallway, towards where George’s room is, trusting that man the most out of all the people he was currently around. He knew what was happening, he doubted anyone else would.

He knocks quickly on George’s door, not stopping until it’s wrenched open. He comes face to face with an annoyed George, the man’s hair is stuck up on one side of his head. He blinks at him slowly, annoyance coating his features at just being woken up.

George looks at him, eyes widening slightly before he pulls him inside. He shuts the door quickly behind him.

“How in god’s name did you manage to hurt yourself that much again.” George doesn’t sound annoyed, just slightly concerned for his wellbeing, which, fair enough.

“I don’t know! I barely remember what happened at the festival, all I know is that my head huts like a pickaxe is splitting it open and that it’s fucking happening again.”

“It’s fine, we’ve done this before, so you’ll be fine.” Quackity nods along with George, slowing his breathing down as his magic gives another twist. He stumbles, only avoiding falling on his face from George holding him up.

“Any messages?”

“No one else in here,” he gasps again as his magic gives an almost painful jolt. He sits down heavily, leaning up against George’s bed as he tries to breathe slowly. George sits down beside him, just watching as Quackity just breathes. He pulls his goggles over his face, watching him carefully though the darkened lenses.

He pulls his beanie down over his head further, rubbing his hands over the edges of the fabric, feeling the softer parts where he had worn away the threads from rubbing it. His magic gives one last twist, his vision blacking slightly before returning. His magic settles down, content with what it had done.

“You all good now?” Quackity just huffs, turning to glare up at George. He hoped he got the message.

“Right, stuck in another form temporarily, not great. Got it.” George stands, sitting himself down on his bed. Quackity hops up beside him, stumbling slightly, still not used to his alternate form. George watches him stumble.

“The feathers look different from before, they’re longer. They’ve lost all their downy fluff.” He just shoots George another look, still not feeling great at his predicament.

“Hey,” George raises his hands, “you didn’t have to come to me, you could’ve stayed in your room when this happened.”

He was right, didn’t mean he couldn’t be annoyed about it.

“I’ll be back in a bit, I’m going to get coffee.”

He watches as George leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind himself after he leaves. Quackity settles down further on the bed, fluffing his feathers up in annoyance. He would always hate it when he was forced into this. He knew he could prevent it by not throwing himself into dangerous situations, but he doesn’t see the fun in that.

Still, being a bright yellow duck wasn’t very favourable. His head didn’t hurt as much at least, the pounding had faded into a dull ache. It still felt like his skull had been split open.

He tried to gather his memories from the day before, casting his mind back to the festival. He knows they had played some games. He had seen Tubbo, had spoken to him at the boxing ring. He had gone and watched Tubbo’s speech.

Oh fuck, Tubbo’s speech. The speech that Schlatt tried to kill his own son at the end of. That explained the splitting ain in his head if the memory of a netherite pickaxe was right. He didn’t know where Tubbo was at the moment, but he hoped it was somewhere far away from Schlatt. He couldn’t help but feel a small bit of satisfaction at the memory of the punch he had launched at Schlatt’s jaw.

He heard the door open again, George walking in, cradling a mug of coffee.

“You won’t believe what I just saw.”

Quackity can’t respond, and George just barrels on, not waiting for one, “He has a fucking dragon with him. Bright red scales and everything, just sat on his shoulder like a scaly parrot.”

Quackity honestly can’t bring himself to be surprised. George sits back on his bed, keeping a respectable distance as he sips at his coffee. George continues to talk to him about meaningless things, he told him what he did at the festival yesterday.

He doesn’t tell Quackity who he went off with, but he tells him what they did together. It sounds like they had more fun than they did.

They both freeze at a knock on the door. George scrambling to put his mug down and answer it. Quackity watches from his position on the bed as he pulls the door open, just enough to allow him to poke his head out. He watches as they begin to discuss things, Sapnap’s voice filtering through the door towards him. He feels slightly guilty as Sapnap begins to sound more and more hurt.

George’s lie had failed as soon as he brought his goggles over his eyes, giving away that he needed to hide what he was thinking and feeling. Karl’s voice soon joined Sapnap’s. he barely had any time to dive under the bed, before Sapnap burst into the room.

He hears the footsteps move towards him, hears curtains be pulled open, light spilling into the room. He hears Sapnap’s noise of confusion at there being no one else in the room, especially when he was expecting Quackity.

He settles down as Sapnap begins to argue with George, arguing for him to show them where he had hidden Quackity. Quackity watches as he flicks his goggles up, settling them back onto his head as he tells them he doesn’t know where Quackity is.

It’s true, he hadn’t seen where Quackity went, and Sapnap obviously realises this. He can hear the worried note in Sapnap’s voice, the way his voice was rising in pitch the more worried he got. It was understandable, last he remembers Sapnap seeing him had been when Quackity was bleeding out on that cursed podium, blood gushing down the side of his face, before he collapsed, just after reassuring them he was fine. Slightly embarrassing.

He watches as Sapnap gets lower to the ground, Karl doing the same, looking under the dressers around the room. He doesn’t know how they think he might have gotten under there in his human form. As far as he knew, no one but Tubbo and George knew about this, no one else would think to look for a bright yellow duck.

He makes eye contact with Karl, the dog on the other side of the room to him. He watches as he begins to shuffle along the floor, eyes remaining fixed on him. he shuffles back slightly, retreating into the shadows under George’s bed.

“George?” George hums, turning to face Karl, “Why do you have a duck under your bed?”

Quackity can see him tense up, watches the way his tail sways from side to side, displaying his uneasiness to everyone.

“You weren’t gonna eat it, were you?” George makes a disgusted noise.

“I might be half cat but even I have standards, the only birds I eat are chickens, and that’s when they’re cooked.”

“Why have you got a duck under your bed then, Georgie?”

“He’s hiding there?” Even Quackity feels embarrassed as George’s voice cracks halfway through the sentence. Karl’ eyes slide back to meet his. He sticks a hand under the bed, he doesn’t grab at him, just offering him a way out. He sighs, wishing slightly that this hadn’t happened. Karl doesn’t seem to make the connection, just pulling him from under the bed when he allows it.

He shoots George a small glare from the corner of his eye. Karl and Sapnap both seem to notice this, “Why is the duck in your room if he’s so pissed at you?”

“He’s here out of his own choice, trust me.” Quackity doesn’t like the way the dragon is eyeing him up from its perch on Sapnap’s shoulder. He makes his way slowly over to George, standing by his leg and staring the dragon down.

“Is he okay?” Karl sounds slightly worried, looking down at Quackity, peering at the side of his face. The side of his face that no longer has bandages on it. He curses internally.

“He’s fine, just a bit hurt. He’s recovering.”

Sapnap narrows his eyes at him, “That cut looks awfully familiar.” He looks over Quackity again, things slotting together in his mind, “The feathers are also incredibly similar in colour. And there are bronze and gold braces on the wings.”

Karl turns to George with a gasp, “Did you curse Quackity?”

George seems unable to help himself, starting to laugh at Karl’s accusation, looking down at Quackity. He could see how it was funny, but he wasn’t finding much amusement in his current situation. George sobered up slightly at his glare.

“No, no, I didn’t curse Quackity. I don’t think I give off very witchy and all magic vibes personally.”

“Why is a duck, that I am now pretty sure is Quackity, here then.” George stares at Sapnap blankly.

“Have you seriously never gotten badly hurt.”

“No? I don’t really, I win all my fights.”

“Well,” George gestures in Quackity’s direction, “this is the result of getting too messed up for your human half to deal with it.” Quackity could have phrased it better himself.

Karl crouches down to look him in the eye, “So, that is genuinely Quackity?” Quackity rolls his eye at the stupid question.

“Yes.”

“And he’s stuck as a duck for how long?”

“Eh, a day at most, probably less.”

Karl looked back to him, reaching a hand out and stroking the feathers along his back. He doesn’t mind the touch too much, allowing them to touch him. he moves away when it gets too much. He sighs again, feeling way too tired for how early it was. He understands why George sleeps so much now.

He resigns himself to a day of being a duck, feeling incredibly stupid, and unable to speak to any of the people around him.


	9. Chapter 9

Karl watches the small duck hiding behind George’s legs. He doesn’t know how this happened, but he doesn’t bother to ask now, Quackity can’t reply, he’ll just have to ask later, when Quackity can speak again.

Quackity seems to be staring at something, and when Karl follows where he’s looking, he sees Kiwi, the small red dragon staring straight at Quackity. He’s never met a dragon before, but the way she looks at him makes him think she just sees him as something edible.

He honestly doesn’t know how he didn’t make the connection sooner; the duck has a large cut down the left side of his face, the jagged pattern similar to how Quackity had looked. His beak is slightly chipped, a small chunk of it missing, Karl doesn’t know how that transfers over to Quackity, but he doubts it’s good. 

He feels a bit dumb for not noticing the wing braces earlier, the bronze and gold blend well into the feathers, but not that well, especially when he had been the one to pull the duck out from under the bed. He feels slightly sorry for Quackity, knowing that it can’t be fun for him to have been attacked then turn into a small, yellow duck, considerably smaller than everyone else around him.

“Why are you all in here?”

He turns towards Sam, watching the creeper hybrid as he pushes the door open further, peering in at them all. He can’t see where he’s looking, mask in the way of seeing his eyes, but he watches his head twist slightly to the side, looking over the whole room. He seems to come to a stop on Quackity, watching the duck for a small bit before turning away, walking back out the door and down the hallway.

“There’s breakfast on the table, come get it whilst it’s still warm.”

Sapnap is the first out of the room, hurrying after Sam, Kiwi still sat on his shoulder. Karl hesitates slightly, glancing back over to George and Quackity, unsure of the protocol. George seems to have no qualms about picking the duck under, ignoring the slight protest he gives at that, ignoring him in favour of holding him securely in his arms.

He supposes that solves the problem, walking out of the doorway ahead of George, down the hallway and towards the kitchen. As he approaches the smell of waffles reaches his nose, the delicious smell wafting in and down the hallway from the kitchen.

When he enters the room Sapnap is already sat down, a heavily bandaged Tubbo sat beside him, already eating. Tubbo turns around at his entrance, mouth full of food, unable to say hello verbally. Karl sends a smile back to him, sitting down beside Sapnap, leaving a seat free on Tubbo’s other side.

George enters the room shortly after him, sitting himself down in the chair beside Tubbo. The ram doesn’t even bat an eye at the duck George is carrying, he just sends Quackity a greeting, already knowing who it was. It made Karl wonder if this was something that just he was missing, but Sapnap’s confused look reassured him that he wasn’t the only one.

He thanked Sam when the man set a waffle down in front of him, grabbing a chocolate spread jar from the centre of the table, picking a knife up to spread it with. He begins eating, only half listening as Tubbo chatters away at Quackity, seemingly unbothered by the sheer amount of bandages covering his head and torso. He’s pretty sure he can see some peeking out from under his sleeve as well, the wrap ending just above his wrist.

He doesn’t pay much mind to them, holding a whole one-sided conversation with a duck, as if it would happen every day, rather than something unusual. George also seemed wholly unbothered by it, holding Quackity in a way that almost seems practiced, eating around the rather large duck in his arms with no trouble. He did want to know why Quackity instantly went to George despite showing that he had trusted them the day before.

He ate his food slowly, considering things and how they added up in different ways. The only thing that connected George, Tubbo and Quackity was that they were all in office with Schlatt at the same, most likely working closely with each other. He can see how some sort of trust would develop there, especially if you were working for someone like Schlatt.

He watched as George subtly handed Quackity some strawberries from his waffles, allowing the duck to eat them. It was rather interesting to watch, the way his beak worked to chew the strawberry. He didn’t drop any of them either, and Karl doesn’t quite know how it’s done. It looks complicated is all he can say.

He finishes his food a bit after Sam sits down, the creeper hybrid taking one of the two free chairs left, sitting down next to George. He pulls his mask off to eat, revealing his face to all of them. Karl doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get past the small, initial fear he feels at seeing the pools of black that are Sam’s eyes. The scales that mark him as a creeper are scattered over his cheeks, glinting slightly under the harsh light from above.

Sam eats quickly, seemingly in a hurry to do something. He pushes his chair back once he’s done, collecting everyone else’s plates quickly and dumping them in the sink. He doesn’t wash them, moving out of the room and away. He assumes he went to his workshop, to work on one project or another.

George stands soon after, Tubbo following him as they leave the room. This leaves Karl alone with Sapnap and Kiwi. He turns to the other, smiling at him as Sapnap turns to face him.

“Any plans for today?” He asks with a small smile.

“A few,” Sapnap grins back

…

Quackity allowed himself to be carried back along the corridor. They were already falling into old patterns, ones that he had assumed were no longer necessary, ones he thought he would never have to do again after he ditched Manburg. 

Tubbo was bouncing along beside George, talking excitedly to the cat hybrid. He seemed upbeat despite his numerous injuries, walking along without any difficulty. George seems mildly interested, humming every now and again to show he was still listening.

They ended up back in George’s room, sitting among the swathes of blue duvets that was his bed. George set him down, allowing him to settle himself, sitting down on one end whilst Tubbo sits on the other. He settles himself beside Tubbo, tucking his wings neatly and folding his legs underneath him as he settled down.

He leans up against Tubbo slightly, listening to the younger talk, gesturing every now and again. He’s sat on Tubbo’s right, pretending he doesn’t notice the way he still can’t see out of his left eye, no matter how many times he blinks without the bandages covering his face.

He brushes it aside, putting it into a box of things to deal with later. He doesn’t know if he will ever revisit that box, it’s overflowing with things he doesn’t want to touch on.

He allows himself to lean more against Tubbo, his eyes slipping shut as he listens to the talking above him. The best way to deal with days like this was to sleep through them.

He took a page out of George’s book.

…

Tubbo freezes halfway through his sentence, stopping when he feels a weight slump against his knee. He looks down, seeing Quackity leaning up against him, eyes shut and fast asleep. He doesn’t blame him.

He still doesn’t know how he got the nasty looking cut down his face, Sam refused to answer him, just instructing him to take some meds and rewrapping his bandages after checking on the burns underneath.

Tubbo knew it was going to scar, no matter how many times Sam told him there was a chance it wouldn’t. He didn’t believe the man.

He looks to George, “What happened at the festival?”

George looks up to him, “Short or long version?”

He considers it for a second, “The long version, I want the details.”

“Well,” George started, “we arrived at the festival, coming through the portal and entering. You hugged Quackity, then Schlatt took you away. We went around a bit, attended Schlatt’s speech. I went off after that, returning with Sam with the pastries for you and Q.”

Tubbo nods, already knowing all of this himself, he had been there.

“It was then your speech. We all went and sat down, you did your speech. It was really good by the way, you held everyone’s attention better than Schlatt did.”

“Thank you,” He smiled genuinely, glad someone had enjoyed his speech. He had spent a while writing it, re-writing sentence after sentence until he was convinced it was perfect.

“That was when Schlatt trapped you in that cage and called Techno up to the stage. He was sat right next to Quackity, on the same row as us. Quackity started looking pissed off when Techno reached the stage, he got all annoyed, feathers puffing up everywhere. Schlatt ordered Techno to shoot you, you know. I think whatever was holding Quackity back snapped then, he strode up to the stage, he shoved Techno aside just as the fireworks went off. Some of them obviously hit, and you were out cold.”

Tubbo nodded, barely remembering the small sparks that had flown at him.

“Quackity went straight for Techno, drawing his sword and fighting him. People below were beginning to panic, everything was beginning to go wrong. Techno pulled his pickaxe and began to fight we that. I don’t know why he used it instead of his sword, but he did. He caught Quackity off guard and sliced right down his face with the pickaxe.” George draws a line down his face, from just above his eyebrow to just below his lip.

Tubbo shudders slightly, glancing back down to the duck beside him, “Did he pass out then?”

“No, he went over to the box you were stuck in, Schlatt was leaning inside. He threatened the ram with his sword. Schlatt didn’t really care, this was when we started to move towards the stage, and then Quackity just punched him, straight in the jaw. He was out completely cold, hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. As we reached the stage, I saw a two people jump from the roof of a building, Wilbur and Tommy ran for the docks, disappearing from sight quickly as Techno began to shoot fireworks at everyone.”

Tubbo swallows slightly. He had known that they were there.

“He pulled you from that box, holding you close to him. We reached the stage at that point, making our way over to Quackity. He tried to tell us he was fine, blood dripping from a massive gash down the side of his face. It didn’t work, obviously, he passed out, like, a second later. Really defeats the whole point.”

“And then you just, what, brought us back here?”

“They did, I had to go say goodbye to some of the people I was meeting at the festival. I managed to time it just perfectly that I was approaching Sam’s house just as it started tipping it down, the rain coming down in buckets.”

“That can’t have been nice.”

“It wasn’t,” George huffs.

Tubbo looks back down to the duck beside him, not understanding why Quackity would do that for him. Maybe he felt some obligation from being married to his shitty excuse of a father.

…

Sapnap snuck down the street beside Karl. The sun is high in the sky but barely anyone else is out. The streets are still wrecked, small, charred spots littering the walls of the buildings around, stalls and carts overturned in the chaos that had followed the festival the previous day.

It was like being in a ghost town. Sapnap didn’t mind though, relishing in the peace of the area, allowing them to walk through, undetected. 

The approached the house he knew belonged to Schlatt. It was shoddily built, the walls barely supporting the roof, making him wonder how it’s still standing. The door is open, swinging slightly on squeaky hinges. He pushes it open, wincing slightly at the shriek the metal lets out.

He hears a shuffling in a room beyond. The whole house is dark, thick smoke permeating the air, clogging up his sense of smell and making him gag as the scent hits the back of his throat. He hears Karl enter behind him, the door’s hinges wailing again as he pushes it open.

He hears more shuffling in the darkness beyond. He moves towards it, pulling out his sword, allowing the small glow from the enchantments to light his way. 

They enter a room that he thinks used to be a living room, it’s too wrecked to tell anymore, bottles scattered over the whole room, most of them smashed, lying in fragments at the base of a wall.

The air stinks of alcohol, the horrible smell filling the air around them. 

“You finally decided to return,” He hears a slurred voice behind him, a calloused hand coming to rest on his shoulder. He whirls around to face Schlatt. The man’s face is veiled in shadow. He looks up, his eyes unfocused, and no recognition within them.

“I knew it wouldn’t be long until you came crawling back to me, Quackity,” He laughs to himself, not noticing the way Sapnap tensed up underneath his hand, “You were always too weak to survive for long without me. You don’t know how to survive without someone better than you around.”

Schlatt leans closer, the stench of alcohol washing over Sapnap as he comes closer to his face, “That’s what made you so fun to have, it’s what made you so fun to break, Q. You would always shiver on the floor, telling me to go away, only to return a few hours later, a snivelling mess of a human being. You would always apologise to me, and that’s what made it so great.”

Sapnap can hear the smile in the man’s voice. 

He raises his sword to underneath Schlatt’s chin, holding the blade there and allowing the enchantment’s glow to wash over their faces, showing Schlatt exactly who he was talking to. Schlatt’s eyes widen slightly, before his face drops into a sneer.

“Oh. It’s you two,” his eyes flick between him and Karl, looking unimpressed.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Schlatt.” Karl sounds pissed off, spitting the words towards the man.

“It means that Quackity can’t even show up to defend himself, he sends his two best friends to do it for him.”

“He didn’t send us, he’s unavailable right now. We brought it upon ourselves to come here.”

“And why would you do that.” Schlatt sounds bored.

“To threaten you,” Karl looks incredibly pissed off, and Sapnap feels a little guilty over the fact that he admires him as he walks up to Schlatt, his face a picture of pure anger.

He jabs a finger at Schlatt’s face, “You keep your grimy fingers off of Quackity or we’ll remove them for you. Slowly.” Karl smiles sweetly at him, a complete twist to what he had been mere moments before.

He seems to think they’re done there, turning on his heel and striding from the room. Sapnap follows after him, leaving the pitiful excuse for a president behind.

He exits onto the street, running slightly to catch up with Karl.

“You are incredibly scary sometimes, I hope you know that.”

“You know you like it,” Karl sends him a small grin over his shoulder, stroking Kiwi on the head when she demands attention from him. He does like it, he thinks, he likes it a lot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, there is a flashback scene at the end that has examples of abuse in it.  
> If you want to skip that just go from the "..." to the end.  
> Stay safe!

When Quackity woke up, he was a person again. The room was still dimly lit, the light illuminating the soft hues of the blue that the room was painted in. George was fast asleep at the end of the bed, curled up in his spot, leaning over to the side slightly as he slept.

Tubbo was curled up beside him, his head leaning on his shoulder as he snored. He shifted slightly, moving himself to a more comfortable position but being careful to not disturb Tubbo. He brought one wing around Tubbo, wincing slightly as he stretched it out from its folded position. It feels a bit stiff, the joint cracking as he moves it.

He settles the wing around Tubbo, blanketing him with the feathers as he continued to wake up. He blinked a few times, bringing his hand up to his face and wondering if the bandages had shifted back with him. He still couldn’t see from his left eye, so he assumed it had. His hand made contact with rough fabric, the tight wrapping of bandage becoming more apparent as he ran his fingers over it.

The bandages covered the whole of his face, successfully covering his eye. That would explain the darkness on that side. 

He sighed, dropping his hand back down, he wasn’t going to tear the bandages off, he would ask Sam later. He leaned back slightly, propping himself up against the wall behind him, spreading his other wing to avoid it getting trapped between him and the wall.

He watched as George blinked one eye open, looking towards him. He stares at him for a second before sitting up and yawning. He rubs his eyes, stretching his arms out in front of him before stretching his legs out too.

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Quackity feels slightly embarrassed now about bursting into George’s room and demanding things of him. George didn’t seem to mind but he still felt embarrassed about the whole thing.

“Hey, uh, sorry for just bursting in on you like that, I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s fine,” George waves him off, getting up from the bed, “I didn’t have any plans anyway. Besides, I owe you.”

Quackity freezes as Tubbo begins to stir, sitting up from his leaned position against Quackity. He watches with slight amusement as he blinks, staring at the yellow feathers in front of his face before turning to Quackity.

When their eyes meet his face lights up, grinning from ear to ear. He latches his arms around Quackity’s neck, dragging him down slightly and making him hunch over awkwardly in the hug. He tightens the wing around Tubbo, giving the ram a small hug in return, patting his back once as he hugs him.

Tubbo pulls back, looking over his face with thinly veiled concern, “Are you feeling better now?”

“I’m feeling better now, I swear.” He reassures him, letting out a small wheeze as Tubbo gives him a small squeeze, hugging him again. The ram is a lot stronger than he looks, muscle in his small stature.

“Tubbo, Tubbo, air. Thing I need.” Tubbo releases him quickly after that, relaxing his hold and allowing Quackity to breathe again. He ignores George’s small, muffled laughs behind him, focusing instead on Tubbo.

“Are you alright?”

Tubbo’s smile dims, fading away from his face.

“I’m not sure,” he admits, looking away to the side as Quackity watches him. He hears George leave the room behind them, door clicking shut.

“I should be fine, I’m pretty sure I am fine. You got hurt for me, so it’s selfish of me to be hurt as well, but I can’t help it.”

Quackity winces in sympathy, understanding the feeling. He brings the younger back into a hug, holding him close as he begins to shake, “You’re allowed to be hurt,” he soothed, “stuff happens, and even if you’re being protected from something you still see it happen. You’re allowed to be hurt and upset about it.”

Tubbo presses closer to Quackity, pressing his face into his chest as he trembles. Quackity strokes his hair, avoiding the small horns sticking from his head. He comforts him as he begins to cry, a small wet patch forming on his shirt as Tubbo curls closer to him. Quackity just holds him close, comforting him and allowing him to cry it out, to feel safe whilst doing so.

Tubbo pulled away from him after a bit, wiping at his eyes as he turned his head down, not meeting Quackity’s eyes. He just sighs, regretting it when he sees Tubbo flinch back at it.

“You’re allowed to cry, you know? It’s not something to be ashamed of.” 

Tubbo scoffs, discreetly wiping at his eyes again, “I think we both know someone that would disagree.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s right.” Tubbo just shrugs, not responding, continuing to wipe at his eyes as a few stray tears escaped down his cheeks. Quackity just kept his wing around him, providing a shelter for him to feel safe in.

He was technically Tubbo’s dad, and he could probably take full custody from Schlatt if he went and talked to the man at some point. He could probably get it off of him if he was drunk. The man was so flippant when drunk, you could get him to sign anything you wanted him to. Quackity looked down at Tubbo again, he would go at some point. Not soon, he doesn’t think he would be able to do it soon, but at some point in the near future.

They both jump when the door bursts open, someone catching it before it can slam against the wall. He watches with a small amount of fear as two people storm into the room. He watches as George follows behind them, shooting him a sorry look, shrugging his shoulders as the two make their way over to where Quackity is sat with Tubbo. 

He forces himself to relax as they come closer, knowing that Karl and Sapnap wouldn’t hurt him. They both slow as they approach the bed, probably seeing Tubbo curled up under Quackity’s wing. Sapnap falters, “Are we interrupting something?”

“Not anymore,” Sapnap takes that as permission to sit down on George’s bed, flattening the specifically raised duvets. He misses the look of disgust that George shoots him, staring at Quackity instead. Karl sits down beside Sapnap, twisted slightly to the side, his legs hanging off the bed. The dragon, Kiwi, is still sat on Sapnap’s shoulder, staring him down with an expression akin to one of confusion.

Quackity keeps his wing tucked around Tubbo, sensing that the boy was unwilling to face two seemingly angry older men. Sapnap lets out a harsh sigh, looking as if he’s deflating as he allowed his shoulders to sink. He looks over to Karl, communicating with their eyes. Karl seems to understand what he’s saying as he turns to Quackity.

“Are you feeling better now?” Quackity sighs at the question, a bit sick of people worrying over him.

“I’m fine now, human again, see.” He gestures to himself, indicating that he was, in fact, no longer a duck. This doesn’t seem to impress them, both just staring at him with empty looks.

“Yeah, we don’t know what that means.”

Quackity expected this, they had said that they’ve both never gotten severely hurt, at least not enough to warrant what happens to him.

“It means that I’m better now.”

“We don’t understand the whole, poof you’re a duck thing though.” Sapnap decides to contribute to the conversation.

“Were you just never taught anything about hybrids?” 

“No, I wasn’t.” well, that explains a few things at least, their general lack of knowledge of things that seemed common knowledge for most.

He sighs, “Basically if you get too hurt, your body puts your human part into this coma thing, and then the only thing left is your other half, so you just kinda, shift. I guess that’s the right word?” he looks to George for confirmation, the other knew more about this than he did. George nods in confirmation.

“What about full humans? They don’t have another half.”

“They have actual comas, duh.”

“You speak like you’ve had experience with this before.” Karl snatches his attention, his voice quiet and tone worried.

“Because I have. Georgie over there too.”

That doesn’t seem to reassure them in the way he had hoped it would, their expressions just becoming more concerned by his flippant tone and the way he addressed it.

“You said it’s like a coma though? How badly would you have to be hurt to get put into a semi-coma?”

“It’s mainly just head trauma,” he explains, “If you get hit really hard on the head, your brain kinda does a little shut off, reboots itself. By the time it’s rebooted you’ve shifted. Trust me,” he lets out a small laugh, “It’s amazing how easily you can get that hurt.”

It’s amazingly easily to get that hurt, many different ways to get hit hard on the head, different ways to be knocked out by a vengeful and drunk ram.

He thinks the worst time was when both him and George were in his line of fire, leaving just Tubbo behind, frantically trying to cover their work, make it seem like their cabinet was functioning properly.

Quackity would always bounce back faster than George, his human half an equal size to his avian half. George’s human side was more than half, meaning he would take longer to recover. No one really minded though, he was still as helpful as he could be around their office, reminding them when to take breaks, they rarely listened, but it was the thought that counted.

…

Quackity scrambled from his desk, bolting over to the door and trying to lock it, he knew it wouldn’t last long, but it gave them more time to hide, hope that Schlatt would leave them alone. He twists the lock of the door just as Schlatt tried to open it. The doorhandle rattled, him trying to get in.

He turns around, watching as George shoves Tubbo into a small cabinet, helping him to squeeze in then pushing it under the desk, quickly hiding him from view. As Quackity turns to hide himself he hears the door burst open behind him, the doorhandle clattering to the ground, making a harsh clanging sound on the tiles.

He whirls around, coming face to face with a very pissed off, and drunk, Schlatt. He was red in the face, breathing harsh. He glanced behind him, George standing frozen on the other side of the room. His goggles are covering his eyes, his tail swaying behind him in unease. 

Quackity’s wings are tight against his back, the bones seized and keeping the wings in position, stopping them from dragging along the floor. Schlatt staggers towards him, a bottle still in his hand. He watches as the man takes a swig from it, making his way towards Quackity.

He jabs his finger in the shorter’s chest, making him flinch back, preparing for it to dig into his ribs. Schlatt shoves him backwards, he stumbles as he does this, tripping and twisting as he tries not to fall flat on his face. George stays frozen on the other side of the room and he hopes he stays that way, he hopes that Schlatt doesn’t notice him and leaves him alone.

He lands heavily on the ground, hitting the ground with a small thump. He feels a foot dig into his back, right between his shoulder blades, right between where his wings join his back. He doesn’t try and struggle, knowing it was pointless.

“I need a few more quills,” Schlatt’s voice is slurred, his movements sloppy as he bends down and pulls a clump of feathers from Quackity’s right wing. He doesn’t cry out in pain, just tensing as it happens, already prepared for the white-hot agony that washes over his wing. He grits his teeth and pushes through the pain.

He does cry out when he feels a boot land on his wing, the heel grinding into the bone right at the end. He struggles as he hears it snap, tears beginning to rush down his cheeks as he wiggles, trying to escape Schlatt’s grasp. The feet are removed from his wing and back, he staggers to standing, watching in horror as Schlatt makes his way towards George.

He readjusts his beanie, pulling it on fully from where it had begun to fall off. He watches as Schlatt grabs George by the shoulders, holding him at arm’s length before shoving him backwards, watching with a vicious smile as his head cracks against the wall behind him. Quackity winces, watching as George slumps down the wall, a small red stain being left behind where his head made impact.

Schlatt turns back around, making eye contact with him.

“Have you not had enough little birdie?”

Schlatt throws the half-full bottle at him, launching it straight at his head. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time, the bottle connecting with his forehead with a dull clunk. He staggers as it disorientates him, his vision washing in and out.

He grips the edge of the desk he’s stood by, watching as Schlatt storms from the room, slamming the door behind him.

He hears a small door creak open, watching as Tubbo stumbles out of it. Quackity leans back against the desk he’s supporting himself with. He lets himself sink to the floor, sitting down softly as Tubbo makes his way over to him.

“Quackity?” Tubbo sounds on the verge of tears, so he opens his arms for the younger to fall into.

“I’m fine, George will be fine soon, we both will be, you just gotta be brave for a day, keep out of Schlatt’s way, okay?”

“Yes, yes. I’ll be good, promise.”

“You always are.” He feels Tubbo’s arms tighten around him as his vision begins to fade. He knows he’ll be awake within the next five minutes, George will be too. He’ll be fine by the end of the day, George will be good by the end of the week.

The black washes over his vision, letting him plunge into its depths as his body shifts, trying to deal with the injuries.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam paced around his workshop, thinking of ways he could improve the defences. He tapped a few screens, bringing them back to life, the blue light washing over his skin as he stares at the numbers and code on the screen.

He makes a few changes, rewriting a few lines of code, editing to make it better. He finishes messing with the code, satisfied with what he’s done. The last thing he changes is the activation code, he doubts a long list of numbers will be as easy for someone else to remember as he finds it.

He changes it to something else, smiling at the new line, he thinks it will be easy to remember, and he thinks it’s pretty funny. He walks out of the room, making sure to lock the door behind him as he enters the basement of his workshop. He makes sure everything in the room is tucked away, the potions correctly arranged.

When he finishes with tucking the extra bandages away, he grabs a small roll and a tube of burn cream. He heads up the stairs, intending to look for Quackity and Tubbo. George had sent him a short message saying everything was back to normal, so he wanted to go check on the two of them.

He shuts his workshop door behind him, walking down the hallway to George’s room. The door is slightly ajar, voices floating towards him from the room beyond. He pushes the door open fully, poking his head in.

George is leaning against his wall, watching as Sapnap and Karl talk to Quackity. They’re sat at opposite ends of the bed, talking over the small distance between them. He can’t see Tubbo anywhere, but he assumes the way Quackity has awkwardly tucked his wing around something is him tucking it around Tubbo.

Their conversations stop when he enters the room, all of them turning towards him.

“Afternoon, Sam.” George greets him first, sending him a small smile.

“Good afternoon,” He smiles back, “I came to check on Tubbo and Quackity’s injuries?”

At his words George stands from where he’s leant against the wall, sending a look to Sapnap. He doesn’t seem to get it, so George just grabs his arm and drags him from the room, Karl following closely behind them.

Sam turns back to Quackity, making his way over to him. He sits down on the edge of the bed, waiting for Quackity to let him move closer. He gives him a small nod, allowing him to move closer.

“Can I see Tubbo?”

Quackity stares at him for a second before pulling his wing back, revealing Tubbo. The teen is curled up next to him, head resting on his shoulder, asleep. He watches quietly as Quackity wakes Tubbo, gently shaking his shoulder until he begins to stir. Tubbo grumbles a bit as he wakes up, pressing his face further into Quackity’s shoulder as he wakes up.

Sam doesn’t completely know the relationship between the two, he had never asked, but he knew that Tubbo was Schlatt’s son, and that Quackity and Schlatt had been married at some point. He didn’t bother to question it though, it wasn’t any of his business, if someone wanted to say something, they would.

“Can I look at your burns Tubbo?”

Tubbo turned towards him, blinking sleep from his eyes as he shuffled a bit. Quackity nudges him slightly in the side, causing him to sit up a bit more, looking more aware of his surroundings. 

“Yeah, you can look at them,” he looks down to the tube of burn cream Sam is holding, “Is that for me?” He questions, pointing to it.

“Yeah,” Sam nods, moving closer. Quackity watches as his fingers skim over Tubbo’s skin, turning his head from side to side as he inspects the burns. He can’t get a clear enough look through the tinted glass of his goggles, so he pulls the mask off, setting it aside.

He twists the cap off the tube, putting a bit of cream on the other’s burns, allowing him to rub it in himself as he turned towards Quackity.

“I’m gonna check your face now, okay?” Quackity just nods, giving him the go ahead. He reaches forward, turning Quackity’s head to the side, pulling the loose end from among the folds of the bandages. He begins to unravel it slowly, pretending not to notice the way Quackity had tensed up when he first made contact with him. He seemed to be relaxing now, so he didn’t comment, unravelling the bandages, allowing them to fall in a small pile.

He pulled the last bit away, allowing the rest of fall down, revealing the left side of his face. Sam held back his wince at it. It wasn’t bleeding anymore; it had actually scarred over since he last saw it. He knew that the forced shift was supposed to help heal, but he didn’t know that it was that efficient.

His eyes traced the scar down the side of Quackity’s face. It went from just above his eyebrow to just below his lip. It cut through his eye, the iris of that one a milky grey colour rather than their normal dark colour. He watches as it darts around, Quackity’s eyes slowly growing wider as he moves his head from side to side.

“Why haven’t you taken the bandages over my eye off yet?” 

Tubbo turns and looks at Quackity, eyes widening as Quackity turns towards him, revealing his grey eye, the cut slicing straight through it. Sam feels sorry for the avian.

“No, I’ve, uh, the bandages are gone.”

Quackity turns back towards him, looking as though he’s beginning to panic, “Then why can’t I see? I can’t see out of my eye anymore.”

“The cut went straight through your eye,” he traces his finger downwards, showing the ragged path that the pickaxe had taken. Quackity slumps down shoulders falling. His wings fall from their previous position, collapsing around him as he sinks down into the bed. He curls his wings around himself, beginning to block them out.

When he starts the rub furiously at his eye Sam takes action. He grabs his arm, pulling it gently away from his face, stopping him from trying to harm his eye. He might be unable to see out of it, but he shouldn’t claw it out. He looks over to Tubbo, who’s just looking on in horror as he watches Quackity curl in on himself. He nods out the door, hoping Tubbo gets the message.

He springs from the bed, racing out the door, leaving it open behind him as he rushes down the hallway. Sam turns back to Quackity.

The other has begun to cry, tears slipping down his cheeks as he stares down, eyes blank. Sam wipes a few of these tears away, feeling sorry for the younger. He doesn’t understand most of what he’s gone through, but it sounds rough, and he wants so desperately to be able to be there for him.

He opens his arms to Quackity to offer a hug, allowing the other to grab onto him, arms curling around his back as he cried. His wings shake as he cries, each sob racking his whole small frame until he’s trembling like a leaf in the wind. 

He hears three sets of footsteps enter the room behind him, twisting around to see Sapnap and Karl stood with Tubbo. They both look on with sadness in their eyes, Karl’s eyes saddening even more as he sees where Quackity is.

Karl moves over to the bed, pushing under Quackity’s wing, coming to rest on one side. He slowly wraps his arms around Quackity, holding him close. Quackity doesn’t tense up at his touch, instead turning around and holding Karl close, replacing Sam with him. It makes sense, he seems to trust the others more than he trusts Sam.

He takes a step back, leaving the room and allowing them to talk to Quackity in private.

…

Quackity clings onto the person in front of him, Karl, his brain supplies. He holds onto tightly, pushing away the embarrassment he feels at the action. He squeezes his eyes shut more, resisting the urge to pull his beanie down further, knowing he would have to let go to do so. He holds onto Karl tightly, allowing him to breathe in the soft smell of his hoodie. He doesn’t open his eyes, he doesn’t open them to see the dark spot covering half of his vision, the dark spot that shouldn’t be there, the dark spot he had assumed was from the bandages.

He hears a muttered conversation take place above him, ignoring it in favour of trying to stop his tears. He presses his eyes further shut, stopping them from escaping. He feels a pair of arms begin to pull him away from where he’s sat, pulling him up into the air. He lets out a small squeak at the movement, twisting slightly. He only blinks one eye open, looking to where Sapnap has bent over, pulling him from where he was sat.

He allows Sapnap to manoeuvre him, picking him up and holding him against his chest. The demon hybrid is like a furnace. He curls closer, soaking the warmth up. He feels Sapnap begin to move, swaying slightly side to side with the movement. He doesn’t move very far, only a few steps down the hallway, the door shutting behind them as they enter a room.

It’s his room he realises, allowing himself to be carried over to his bed. He knows he’s going to feel embarrassed about this later, but he’s too warm to care at that moment, curling into his nest as soon as he’s set down in it. He rolls onto his left side, pressing his left eye into the mattress, making it so that it would be dark anyway. He brings his wing above his head, hiding his face from view.

He feels the mattress dip beside him, someone making their way over to him, towards the small corner he had curled himself into. He watches as Karl wiggles under his wing, lying right next to Quackity, body pressed up against his. Karl smiles at him, a big beaming smile. He can’t help but smile back, the grin is contagious.

He feels the mattress dip again, peeking from under his wing to see Sapnap there, hovering over Karl awkwardly. The door behind him is shut, no one else is in the room. He can’t help but wonder where Tubbo went. He feels a pair of arms encircle his back, pulling him closer. He allows Karl to do this, creating a small space between him and the duvet behind him.

He watches as Sapnap steps over them, settling himself in the small gap behind Quackity. He wiggles slightly until he’s created a space big enough for him to fit into. He then curls himself around Quackity, holding the other close.

He likes the warmth they both provide. He keeps his face pressed into the mattress below him, keeping his eyes shut, pretending nothing is wrong.

He feels a hand come to a rest on his cheek. He opens his right eye, looking up into Karl’s eyes. He meets his grey eyes. His eyes are a blue grey, a nice colour. He allows Karl to run his hand down his cheek, glancing away when the maintained eye contact became too much.

He freezes when Karl tries to turn his head to the side, locking his body in position, not allowing him to do it. He stares Karl down with one eye, daring him to try again. He doesn’t seem to like his chances, pulling his hand away, laying it back across him, underneath his wing. 

Quackity presses his face further into the duvet. Willing his eyes to stay closed.

…

He wakes up an undetermined amount of time later. Karl and Sapnap are both still curled around him. Enough time has apparently passed for the embarrassment to hit. He cringes slightly, face beginning to flush as he thinks of the fact that Sapnap had picked him up and carried him to his bed.

He blushed even more as he realised he had liked it, like the way he had been held against his chest, the warmth that had radiated off of him. He looks around the room, realising that he hadn’t seen Kiwi with Sapnap when he entered the room. The small dragon was nowhere to be seen, either hiding or not in here.

He felt Karl shift next to him, mumbling something intelligible, pressing his face further into Quackity’s neck. He feels embarrassed about how much he likes the closeness of them. A few untouched thoughts begin to rise to the forefront of his mind, forcing him to consider them as he lays awake, staring at the top of Karl’s head.

Thought after thought processes through his mind before he’s only left with one logical conclusion.

He had fucking fallen in love with his two best friends. He groaned quietly. How else could he fuck his life up, he had just gotten out of one relationship, and he was already beginning to feel a lot more than friendship for some other people.

He resisted the urge to thump his head into a nearby hard object, knowing that it would only raise questions that he wouldn’t want to answer.

God, he knew who he was going to have to talk to now.

His head hit the mattress below with a small thump, sighing as he closes his eyes.

He would deal with it in the fucking morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,,,tommy's stream huh.  
> that was something.


	12. Chapter 12

Quackity woke first, stirring as the sun began to shine in through his window, straight past the curtains that no one had bothered to shut the previous night. His stomach let out a small rumble, reminding him he had not eaten in a while. 

He didn’t bother moving, comfortable between the two solid and warm weights either side of him. His face was still pressed into the mattress below him, Karl’s head is tucked close to him, his chin resting on the top of Quackity’s head. He would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel safe.

He pushed any thoughts from the previous night away, burying them under the surface, knowing he wasn’t going to confront them yet, he would need to talk to someone else first, someone who would hopefully be better equipped to dealing with this than Quackity.

He felt someone begin to move behind, shifting from side to side. He feels a nose press against the back of his neck, tensing up slightly at the unexpected contact. He feels their arms tighten around his waist. 

“Good morning,” his voice comes out as a whisper, quietly greeting the person behind him, but not waking Karl up if he’s still asleep. A muffled mumble is all he receives in return, Sapnap’s breath ghosting over the back of his neck as he speaks. He shivers from the warmth of it.

“I have no clue what you just said.”

“I said, good morning to you too, Q.” Sapnap’s voice is slightly slurred, still heavy with sleep. The slur isn’t very prominent, but Quackity picks up on it, too used to having to gauge a situation based on how slurred someone’s voice was.

He hears Sapnap yawn behind him, arms loosening momentarily as he stretches, before wrapping back around him. They lie in a comfortable silence for a while, just soaking up the other’s presence.

“Can I wake him,” Sapnap sounds significantly more awake now, his voice carries a note of laughter in it. He doesn’t twist his head around to face him, keeping the left side of his head pressed firmly into the mattress.

“I wouldn’t, he doesn’t take well to being woken suddenly.”

“I’m gonna do it anyway.” That’s the only warning he gets before Sapnap is pulling away from him, removing his arms from where they had been. He watches as Sapnap leans over him, eye tracking his movements as his hands inch towards Karl’s ribs. 

He realises what the man is about to do a few seconds before he jabs the other in the side, right where they both know he’s extremely ticklish. Karl shoots up with a small scream, keeping a hold of Quackity and dragging the avian up with him.

He quickly presses his eye shut, not trying to look out of it as Karl glares at Sapnap.

“Why would you do that?” His voice is high-pitched, almost squeaky with annoyance. Sapnap just shrugs.

“It was funny.”

“I don’t think it was,” Karl pulls Quackity closer to him, holding him like he’s some kind of doll, “I bet Quackity doesn’t either.”

“I don’t find it funny because you’re currently holding me like I’m some kind of comfort stuffed animal.”

Karl drops him, allowing him to fall back onto his bed. He lands on his wings, groaning as the rest of his body weight presses down on the sensitive bones. He rolls over, pulling his beanie down as he sits up. Karl begins to fuss over him, apologising for letting him drop like that. He pushes him away, “I’m fine, Karl.”

He sits up, hunching his shoulders slightly, he can’t keep his eye shut anymore, it would just look weird. He blinks it open, feeling the swell of dread as the left side of his vision remains dark. He looks around to Sapnap, turning the right side of his face towards him.

It leaves Karl in his literal blind spot now, and he can’t see him. He moves his head back around, trying to figure out a way to look at both of them at the same time. He pushes himself backwards until he’s against the wall, allowing him to face both of them at the same time, instead of being sat right in the middle.

They both watch him as he does this, allowing him to press himself up against the wall, similar to when they had first arrived at Sam’s base, three, was it only three days ago? It felt like longer.

His thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door, watching as it swings open, Tubbo peeking his head around it to look in at them. When he sees they’re awake he bounds into the room, leaving the door open behind him.

He moves over to the bed, swiftly climbing into the small nest before sitting down beside Quackity.

“Good morning.” He grins at Quackity, and he smiles back. The teen’s happiness is contagious, it seems to infect everyone around him, making their days brighter. Tubbo takes his smile as a permission, leaning into his side, head resting on his shoulder. He sat on Quackity’s left side, right where he couldn’t see him. He turns his head to face him.

He doesn’t know if Tubbo did it intentionally, but by placing himself where he was, he created a barrier between anyone Quackity might not be able to see. His hugs him tighter, just for second, a quick squeeze before releasing him again.

“Good morning Tubbo,” Sapnap greets, “what brings you here?”

Tubbo thinks for a second, obviously trying to remember why he had come here in the first place, “Oh! Sam wanted me to tell you that he had some food ready.”

Quackity rolls his eyes slightly at that, Sam seemed to always make the food, he doesn’t know what the creeper gets up to in his free time, but it’s obviously not enough if he’s constantly taking care of the people he lives with.

He stands up, wobbling slightly on the unsteady surface of the mattress below him. He spreads his wings slightly, balancing himself as he makes his way to the edge of the bed, hopping down to the floor below. When he looks back, Tubbo has fallen onto his side, staring towards him with a fake betrayed look. He had obviously fallen there from where he had been leaning against Quackity.

He just grinned at him, ignoring the way the wide smile pulled at the scar that went over his lip, a new and uncomfortable feeling that he wasn’t used to. He watched as the other three pulled themselves from the bed, making their way over to the door as a group and walking towards the kitchen.

Quackity knocks on George’s door as they pass it, waking the other up. He hears a small noise of complaint as they moved further down the hall, but his ears pick up sounds of movement, meaning the other is up and moving around.

When they enter the kitchen Sam is sat alone, plates set at each place around the table, bowls of food sat in the centre, waiting for them to arrive. Sam has either already finished his food or was waiting for them to start eating. 

They sat down in the chairs one by one, beginning to help themselves to the food on the table. Quackity looks around when he hears someone enter the room, prepared to say hello to George. It was not George that entered the room. It was Ponk.

Quackity had only spoken to the man a few times before, their interests mainly leading them to different places than the other, meaning they hadn’t interacted as much as he had with others. He knew that the man had some kind of trade deal with Schlatt, but Tubbo was more the person that would deal with those deals, he just read over the paperwork before signing it.

Sam seems to have expected his arrival, only nodding in the masked man’s direction before returning to his food. George stumbles through the door as Ponk sits down, making his way over to the coffee machine on uncooperative legs. Quackity watches him go with amusement, laughing to himself as he watches the cat hybrid wait by the coffee machine, almost falling back asleep as he does so.

George sits in the chair beside him, hunched over his cup of coffee, drinking it despite the visible steam rising from the liquid. It seems to bring him some kind of awareness, because he looks around, eyes landing on Ponk and Sam.

“Morning Ponky,” he grins, sharp teeth peeking over his lip as Ponk turns towards him, the man looks slightly irritated, but he doesn’t have much to tell with, the only part of his face that was visible is his eyes.

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Ponk sounds tired, as if they’ve had this conversation multiple times before.

“But you let Sam call you that, do I not get those privileges too?”

“No,” Ponk turns back to his food, pulling his mask up to allow him to eat. George just snickers, pulling a bowl of bacon towards him. He pulls a few strips of the meat out, dropping them onto his plate.

Quackity sits with his plate of toast, mushrooms and tomatoes, content to not eat any meat. Avians aren’t meant to anyway, they can’t digest it, so they’re just sick if they do. He eats his food slowly, listening to the conversations around him. Sapnap and Karl seem to be having a debate over whether warped forests were better than crimson forests. Tubbo occasionally adds to the discussion, adding fuel to the flame and watching with a slight amount of glee as the debate begins to spiral into an argument.

Ponk is asking Sam about some random redstone thing Sam is apparently working on. Quackity doesn’t understand half the words he is saying, the redstone technical terms unfamiliar to him. Ponk seems to be listening along though, nodding every now and again as Sam continues to talk on and on about a redstone machine. Even Quackity can see he’s passionate about redstone, the excitement on his face is clear. 

George doesn’t make a single sound, drinking his cup of coffee slowly and taking the occasional bite of his meat. He finishes his food just after Quackity, looking around the room with a bored gaze, blinking slowly before standing and taking his dish to the sink, dumping it into the warm water there. He turns to leave.

“Hey, George,” Quackity calls out, causing everyone to turn and look at him, George already halfway to the door, he falters slightly, “Can I talk to you about something?”

George nods slowly, continuing out of the room, disappearing down the hallway. Quackity stands quickly, shoving his plate into the sink before hurrying after him. George’s bedroom door is open, waiting for him to enter. He does so, closing it behind him.

“As much as I love your company,” George asks, already back on his bed, laying down and staring at the ceiling, “I must ask why you need to talk to me.”

Quackity shuffled, his earlier bravery disappearing like a feather on a breeze. His voice catches in his throat, he mentally stumbles and falls flat on his face, blurting out the only thing that can come to mind.

“Have you ever been in love?” He cringes back, embarrassed at the dumb question. George sits up from where he had been reclining. They make awkward eye contact for a few seconds, Quackity’s face growing steadily more red.

“Come sit down, you look awkward stood by my door like that,” George pats the bed, sitting up further and tucking his legs underneath him, creating space for Quackity to sit down. He begins to walk across the room, only tripping over his feet once. His face is still burning, he can feel it, and his ears are basically on fire at this point. He pulls his beanie down further, covering his ears even more.

He sits on the edge of the bed, not making eye contact with George.

“Can I ask why you asked that?”

“Uh, I need to know?” His voice pitched higher at the end of his sentence, shoulders rising towards his ears. He can feel a few of his feathers ruffling behind him, the awkward silence between them stretching on.

“Okay,” George looks to the side, sliding his goggles down over his eyes, “I’ve been in relationships, yes.”

“So, you’ve been in love?”

“Yes.”

George seems to be holding something back, sealing his lips shut, as if he were stopping himself from saying something. 

“George? You good there?”

“No, no, I’m fine. I just, you’re probably coming to the wrong person for advice on love.”

“Why? You said you’ve been in relationships.”

“I am in a relationship,” George seems to get a bit defensive, ears pulling back as he stares at Quackity, “It’s just probably slightly different with you than it is with me,” George pauses for a second, he lets out a sigh, “I’m aromantic, you know what that means, right?”

“Yeah, I do. So you’re in a relationship,” he grins at George, watching as the other flushes, seemingly realising what he had said, “who is it? Wait!” he holds a hand out, grinning at the way George’s flush darkens, “I bet I can guess who it is, you have to tell me if I’m right though.”

He watches as George nods warily.

“Is it Dream?”

He takes his answer from how George blushes harder, which he didn’t think was possible, he looks like he’s about to burst a blood vessel.

“Don’t worry about it, Georgie, I won’t snitch. My mama didn’t raise no snitch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks. I mean it, this is private, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grins, “got it.”

“I am not very good with feelings. So, I am going to call Dream now. And he is going to answer, and if he feels like it, he’s going to come here. You are not going to make fun of me and him, okay?”

“Yeah.”

He did not expect to be getting relationship advice from Dream, pretty much the god of their whole fucking server. He groans internally, watching as George pulls his comms hologram up, tapping a few things before the call tone rings out.

It cuts out almost immediately, Dream picking up. 

“Hello?” He sounds tired, his voice slightly slurring, his words melding into one another. 

“Hey Dream, you’re on speaker.”

“Who else is there?” He sounds confused, his voice still slightly slurred, Quackity realises then that he was probably asleep. It’s barely gone ten in the morning, the sun almost halfway in the sky. Everyone that is anyone on the server knows that Dream stays up until early hours in the morning.

“Hello Dream.” He feels tempted to wave, but he doesn’t, knowing that he can’t see him.

“Oh, hello Quackity. You bothering George?” His tone turns lighter, more playful, the joking tone obvious.

“Depends on what you think bothering is.” George says, “He came in my room when it is barely time to be awake and asked me if I had ever been in love.”

“Okay. Give me a second.” Quackity hears the call disconnect, looking to George in confusion. He looks unbothered, just meeting his eyes as a small pop resonates through the room. He glances around, swinging his head all the way around to see where the sound came from properly. The annoyance from his blind side is already beginning to get to him.

Dream is stood in the centre of the room, green hoodie standing out among the deep blue hues of George’s room. The mask, ever present, is on his face. His wings hang low behind his back, the black skin stretching over the bones, the skin stretching between each one to form the wings. A long, thin, scaled tail swings behind him. He looks like he normally does, the painted smile on his mask permanently stained on.

He shifts from foot to foot, shaking his limbs out before making his way over the room. He drapes himself over George dramatically. George’s only reaction is to shove him off, letting him fall to the floor with a heavy thump.

“George,” he whines, lying on the floor, remaining in the position he fell in. Quackity is slightly confused about it, watching as George extends a hand to Dream despite the fact that he was the one that shoved him to the floor.

Dream takes his hand, allowing the other to pull him up onto the bed. Dream turns to face him, freezing slightly as he makes eye contact with him. Quackity tenses up slightly at the sudden lack of movement.

“Ouch,” Dream draws out, “I heard it was bad, but I didn’t think it would have that much of a consequence.”

Quackity brings a hand up to cover the side of his face self-consciously, covering where he knew the scar ran straight through his eye.

“Not like that!” Dream rushes out, leaning forward from where he’s sat in George’s lap, “It’s not bad, it just looks painful.”

“Oh,” he lowers his hand slightly, bringing it away from where it’s resting against his skin. Dream watches him, the smile drawn on his mask slightly unnerving. Dream looks to him again before pushing his mask up.

Quackity slams his eye shut, not wanting to look at the god’s face if he didn’t want him to. He keeps his eyes shut, not invading the other’s privacy. He hears him laugh, “You can look you know, it’s not illegal.”

Quackity opens his left eye first, testing the waters without actually seeing anything. When Dream doesn’t change his mind, he opens the other, looking Dream square in the face. He honestly looks just how Quackity had expected him to, small scales littering his cheeks like freckles, going over the bridge of his nose. His eyes are a bright, searing shade of purple and there are a small pair of horns poking out from his hair.

He just looks like an ender dragon, but more person. It makes him wonder why Dream actually shut off the end, whether it was to prevent people from going there, or to protect the inhabitants. Based on what he now knew, he was pretty sure it was the latter.

It wasn’t as if no one had known that Dream was a hybrid, just no one knew what kind. A few things were beginning to slot together, he pushed that aside for later.

“So,” dream begins, “you caught feelings for your best friends.”

“So, what. Am I just an open book for you to read?”

“Yes. Your aura is all over the place, and it’s incredibly easy to read.”

“Ah.”

“Best way to deal with it is to just say something. If you bottle everything up you become more volatile, and that is never good, especially as a hybrid, trust me.”

“Please for the love of god trust him, I never want to have to deal with anything similar to that again.” George practically begs him.

“I don’t think I even want to know what that means,”

“Trust me, you don’t,” George promised. Dream was looking more and more guilty as they continued to talk, but he also looked slightly smug, a small grin beginning to form on his face. Quackity still cannot get over the fact that he now knows what Dream’s face looks like, he must be one of few.

“Back to what I’m here to talk about. Just tell them, I can literally see their auras through the walls, it’s pretty similar to yours actually. You’ve just got to be confident.”

Sure, confidence. He’ll try and find a few scraps of that littered around.


	13. Chapter 13

Quackity felt like he was third wheeling. 

He felt slightly embarrassed for the two people in front of him as they spoke to each other. He genuinely felt like he was interrupting something, trying to block out the conversation. He stood from the bed, his face slightly red.

George and Dream turned towards him, Dream smirking at him as George looks confused. 

“I’m, uh, gonna go,” he jerks his thumb over his shoulder, towards the door. He spins on his heel, hearing a muffled laugh behind him as he exits the room. His left shoulder smacks into the doorframe, and he flinches away from it, not realising how close it had been.

He closes the door behind him, hearing someone begin to laugh louder after he left. He hears George chastise Dream, not sounding very convincing about it. He runs into Sam as he makes his way back down the hallway.

“Oh, Quackity. You should probably take those braces off soon.” Quackity glances back to his wings, having almost forgotten about the structure that was basically holding his wings together.

“I can show you how?” Sam offers, gesturing towards his lab.

“Oh, yeah, that would be helpful,” he shifted his wings behind him slightly, suddenly extremely aware of the places the metal connected to his wings, aware of the way the leather pressed down on his feathers.

He followed Sam down the corridor, shifting his wings again behind him, trying to return the feeling to normal. The feathers trapped under the metal itched, he knew he would have to preen them when he got the chance. He didn’t want to bother George for any help, so he would have to ask Tubbo.

When Sam pushed the door to his workshop open, Tubbo was bent over a bench, looking at something on there. When he heard the door open he shot up from where he had been, taking a large step away from the workbench.

“I wasn’t doing anything,” he instantly raises his hands, a guilty look on his face as his eyes look between the two of them. His instant guilt and defence makes Quackity think that he had been doing something. This assumption is proved correct as he hears a small fizzling sound behind the ram and then a small explosion sound.

Smoke rises from the bench, a small fire starting in the middle of a pile of metal. Tubbo doesn’t even look guilty, peering at the item with interest after he got over his initial fear of the loud sound. Sam just sighed, putting a fire blanket over the small flames and extinguishing it. Once the fire is out, he sweeps the scraps of metal to the side.

“Turn around,” Quackity does so, trying to see what Sam is doing as he removes the brace from Quackity’s right wing. They seem to fit on with clasps, the bronze hooking together onto the main framework of the brace, holding both of the sides together. He watches as Sam methodically unclips each one, starting at the end of the wing and working his way up.

He finishes with the first one, pulling both sides away and setting them down on the table, Quackity shoots Tubbo a look, almost daring him to try and mess those up. Tubbo takes another step back, grinning at him, as if trying to say he would never do anything like that.

He lets Sam do the left wing, not bothering to try and see, he knows he won’t be able to. He feels the frame be pulled away from his wings after a few moments, allowing them to sag back down behind his back.

His bones feel more out of place without the frame, more awkward. They click slightly as he moves them, the movement of joints unnatural from where they were broken and healed wrong, a health potion shoved down his throat, no allowance for his wings to heal properly.

A few feathers are stuck up, others are coated in grime and soot, residue left over from the fireworks a few days prior. He shudders at the state of them, not fully understanding how he had let his wings get into that much of a state.

He sits down on the floor, crossing his legs as he focuses on the feathers in front of him. He awkwardly brings a wing around to his front, wincing at the clicks the bones let out when they move. He gives up trying to move it, just pulling it around to face him manually.

He holds his wing softly, sifting through the feathers with gentle hands, weaving and threading between the feathers, teasing them loose from where they had become tangled, brushing the dust and soot off his wings, scratching it away from his skin and dusting his wings off fully. He pulls any loose feathers free, leaving the ones that were not loose behind.

His hands itched to pull those out too, fingers twitching as he thinks of how easily he could just pull them out, he could rip a clump free, allow the feathers to tumble to the floor. He always liked it when he did that, he would pick the feathers up one by one, inspecting each individual shaft, eyes flicking over the quill. He would take the ones he liked and remove more for the ones he didn’t. 

He slowly pulled his hand away from the underside of his wing, pulling himself away from the temptation, despite the way his feathers itched to be free, the way they itched to fall to the floor, to fly away on a breeze.

“You alright there Q?” He jerks his head up, instantly making eye contact with Sam. The creeper is watching him, eyes scanning over his face, one hand holding his gas mask. He nods slowly, reassuring Sam as much as he’s reassuring himself.

He stands up, wincing slightly as his wings begin to extend, trying to balance him as he stands. He tucks them back, holding them close, stopping them from extending again.

“You should probably take care of your wings, leave the brace off for a few hours then put it back on, okay?”

He nods again, just wanting to leave and take care of his wings in private, maybe asking Tubbo for help. Sam seems to accept this, leaving him after making sure he understood how to put it back on. He watches as the creeper hybrid turns to the scraps of metal, looking over the deformed shape. He pulls the pieces towards him, shooing Quackity and Tubbo out of the room with the wave of a hand.

Quackity walks back down the corridor, holding onto the folded-up wing braces. He holds them close to his chest, almost clinging to them. Tubbo walks along beside him, sticking close to his side as they walk down the corridor back to Quackity’s room together.

He pushes the door open, expecting to enter a dark and messy room, the duvets and pillows still strewn over his floor from when Karl and Sapnap had slept in there. It isn’t dark, the curtains wide open. His floor is clean, no items left scattered across the carpet. Sapnap and Karl are both lying on the floor, Karl’s head cushioned on Sapnap’s stomach, talking to each other.

They both turn and look to Quackity and Tubbo when they enter. Karl doesn’t sit up, but Sapnap does, causing Karl’s head to slide down onto his lap. Karl grumbles a bit at that, but Sapnap silences him by putting a hand on his head, right between his ears.

Quackity stands awkwardly in the doorway, Tubbo just behind him, peering over his shoulder. Quackity hadn’t expected them to still be here, they had lives to live, but they were still just sat in his room, apparently waiting for him to come back.

“Quackity!” Sapnap cheers, attempting to get up, only stopped by Karl holding him in place, preventing him from standing. Quackity can’t help but feel slightly jealous, watching as the two seem so comfortable in each other’s personal space. 

“What are you holding?” Sapnap leans forward, looking to the wing braces he’s holding.

“These are the braces I was wearing,” he points to his wings awkwardly, not moving them because he knows it will hurt when he does, the bones cracking and rubbing against each other when they try to move.

“Why aren’t you wearing them anymore?”

“I’m not meant to wear them all the time,” he shifts, feeling slightly awkward under their gazes, “I need to take care of my wings as well.”

Sapnap seems to take that as his final answer, lying back down on the floor, staring at the ceiling as he runs his hands through Karl’s hair. Quackity watches him do this, pulling his hat down over his head further, securing it on his head.

He places the wing braces down on his desk, laying them down carefully, worried about breaking the brace despite knowing the metal was sturdy and nigh unbreakable, they were designed for flight after all.

He steps over Karl and Sapnap, making his way towards his bed. Tubbo follows behind him, he hopes that the ram had heard the silent question he had asked when he spoke of taking care of his wings. He didn’t feel like asking Karl and Sapnap, unsure of their familiarity with feathered wings and preening. He knew that Tubbo knew how to do it.

He sat down in the middle of his nest, feeling the bed dip beside him. He turns his head to the left, watching as Tubbo makes his way behind him. He can see Sapnap look in their direction, pausing his conversation with Karl as he watches Tubbo spread his wing out behind him.

He feels when Tubbo begins to work through the feathers on his wings, teasing the feathers apart and sweeping any dust off, collecting it in his hand before tipping it over the side of his bed. He’s just grateful it didn’t all get dumped in his bed.

He feels Tubbo work through his wings methodically, his hands gentle on the sensitive skin and feathers. His movements are well-practiced from when him and George would help Quackity with his wings whilst in office. He finishes the left wing quickly, moving onto the right wing. His movements remain swift, brushing away any dirt that had collected under the feathers.

He finishes quickly, leaving the underside of the wing for Quackity to do. 

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Quackity is confused as to why Sapnap is confused.

“What you just did with your wings, why?”

“I, cleaned them?”

“No you didn’t. You didn’t use water or soap, you just kinda brushed through them.”

“That’s how you clean feathers, you preen them.”

Quackity knew that he was the first avian they had met, but he would have thought they knew at least something about normal birds.

“How do you do it?” Karl is now sat up, looking over to him in interest. 

“You just detangle the feathers and brush the dirt away.”

Karl stands up from his spot, leaving Sapnap lying on the floor. He sits down on the edge of the bed, reaching a hand towards Quackity’s wings. He looks up to him for permission. He gives Karl a small nod, allowing him to touch his wings.

He shivers slightly at the unfamiliar touch. Karl’s hands are different to Tubbo and George’s hands. George’s hands are small and soft, his fingers long enough to weave between the feathers on his wings easily. Tubbo’s hands are always slightly cold, calloused skin rougher against his feathers than George’s.

Karl’s hands are soft, albeit slightly cold. He brushes his hand over the golden wings, tracing the individual feathers, outlining each one. He can feel his hands stroking over the feathers on his wings. His hands are gentle, treating his wings with care.

He watches as Sapnap stands from his spot, making his way over to them. He looks to Quackity for permission too, asking before he reaches out and touches his wings. His eyes widen slightly as Sapnap runs his hands over his wings. The man’s hands are hot, but not overbearingly so. It’s a comforting warmth, like the kind you would get on a sunny day.

He sits and allows them to run their hands over his wings, stroking the golden feathers as the sun sets, the window behind them showing its downward descent.

…

George pulls away from Dream slightly, uncurling them from the hug as he feels a comm begin to vibrate. He pokes Dream gently in the shoulder, waking the other up. Dream doesn’t open his eyes for a second, keeping them firmly close until George flicks his ear.

“Ow!” Dream pulls away from George, glaring at him as he rubs his ear. George mocks him, glaring back in a similar way.

“Your comm is going off, I think someone’s trying to get a hold of you.” Dream glances down as if he hadn’t noticed the vibrating. He pulls the hologram up, both of them frowning at the contact name before Dream answers.

“Hello?”

“Dream,” their voice is slurred, “I need a favour.”

“Are you drunk,” Dream’s voice is cold, glaring straight at the hologram. The person on the other end can’t see him. He doubts they would laugh the same way if they could.

Their laugh is long a wheezing, a pathetic imitation of Dream’s laugh, “I might be,” George can hear the smugness in the bastard’s voice. His hand clenches into a fist as he thinks of what he would like to do to him, for what he’s done to his friends and him.

Dream looks over to him, eyes softening slightly in sympathy. They turn icy cold again as he responds to the other, “I would suggest sobering up then, I’m not doing any deals with a drunk.”

“Fine, fine,” he huffs, “I’ll be more sensible now. But, I have a great plan, it’ll get us both something we want.”

“What could I possible want, I have everything I need and more,”

“I have one thing I know you don’t have,”

“And what’s that?” Dream’s voice is cold, venomous. His displeasure is obvious within his tone.

“I have a book,” He sounded even more smug, the grin apparent in his voice. George watches as Dream freezes, his eyes darting towards him. George knows exactly which book it is, he remembers how worried Dream had been when he had lost it, looking for days on end, not sleeping, trying to recover the book. They eventually chalked it up to this person, knowing they wouldn’t be able to retrieve it until he re-entered the server.

His entrance had been chaos, Dream wasn’t able to retrieve the book. It seems the opportunity had now presented itself.

“What do you want for it?”

“Your help,”

“With what,” George could see that Dream was getting frustrated, evident in the way he stood from the bed, beginning to pace around the room. His tail flicked behind him in agitation, the pointed end flicking from side to side. 

“With a plan I have,” He was purposefully evading the question, leaving Dream chasing after him, trying to figure out what he was asking for.

“Tell me what it is, or I won’t help you,” Dream stood still in the centre of the room, spitting the words out through gritted teeth. George rolls his eyes, he supposes their afternoon is ruined now.

“I want you to kill Quackity,” The blood freezes in George’s veins. He turns and looks to Dream, who is looking back at him with equally wide eyes. He watches as Dream crosses his fingers.

“Okay. I will meet you tomorrow to retrieve the book,” George watches silently as Dream ends the call. Watching as the admin walks back over to him. He holds his arms open, an invitation for the other.

Dream takes the invitation, all but falling into his arms, accepting the embrace. George wraps his arms around the other, allowing Dream to breathe a few times, get his emotions under control, allowing him to sort through them and collect himself.

“Did I do the right thing?”

“As long as you don’t actually follow through, yes.”

Dream lets out a sigh, bringing his hands up to his face and dragging them down, “Goddamn Schlatt. A lot of our problems wouldn’t exist if I had never let him on.”

“You can’t blame yourself for this,” George soothes him, brushing a hand through his hair, “things were already beginning to go downhill. Wilbur’s presidential rule wouldn’t have been much better than Schlatt’s.”

“We can help Wilbur though, Schlatt doesn’t care. He knows what he’s doing and relishes in it.”

“I know, I know. There’s nothing we can do now but hope for the best.”

Dream scoffs at that, “Good things don’t seem to happen on this server. All that happens is conflict,” he hears Dream draw in a shuddering breath, “all I wanted was peace, I got the exact opposite.”

“We can hope though, that’s the whole point of it,”

“We can hope,” Dream repeats, pressing his face further into George’s sweater, burying himself under one of the duvets George has piled on his bed. George allows him to do this, content to just hold Dream close and spend time with him.

He thinks he’ll take a short nap, a cat nap if you will.

…

Schlatt spins his chair around, grinning at Fundy.

“The plan is in motion, he’ll be here tomorrow.”

Fundy nods, his grin sharp, “I look forward to it, sir.”

“You are dismissed, check over the mechanism once more before you leave.” He waves a hand in Fundy’s direction, dismissing him.

He smiled to himself, allowing the grin to stretch across his face. He looks out the window, onto the bustling streets below. 

“Oh Dream,” he smiles, “you have no idea what is coming.”

He flicks the lid off another bottle, taking a swig as he stares into the sunset.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for use of drugs.

Quackity talks quietly with Karl. Tubbo has fallen asleep, leaning up against him. Quackity doesn’t wrap a wing around him this time, not wanting to wake the younger up with the rather sickening cracks of his bones.

Sapnap had slipped off a few minutes ago, promising them both he would be back with something ‘fun’. Quackity didn’t have a clue what that meant, and Karl didn’t either. They were discussing the possibilities of what it could be.

“Maybe he’s just gone to get Kiwi?”

“How would his dragon be something ‘fun’.”

Karl shrugs, “I don’t know, as if your idea of a laser pointer was any better.” Rain has begun to drizzle outside, quickly increasing to sheets of rain, the sky becoming overcast and grey.

“You don’t know what I know,”

“And what’s that?”

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy on the event, we are not meant to speak of the office incident.”

“The office incident?” Karl raises his eyebrows, “That sounds interesting, didn’t think presidential cabinets had fun,”

“We had plenty of interesting things go on behind locked doors,” Quackity shudders slightly, mind flashing to broken bones, twisted feathers and spatters of blood, “not all of them were fun though.”

Sapnap pushes the door open, walking into the room, a proud grin on his face. His hair is slightly damp, a few droplets of water dripping from his fringe. He has a small see-through bag in his hand. There are a couple of rolled up pieces of paper in the bottom of the bag. Quackity knows exactly what they are.

“Sapnap,” he reprimands, “there is a child here,”

“He can go out if he wants to, he has a pair of legs.”

“He’s asleep.”

“He can go in George’s room, I can take him,” Sapnap offers, setting the small bag down on the bedside table. Quackity watches as he pulls Tubbo away from him, following behind the other as he walks down the corridor, towards George’s room, Tubbo in his arms.

He doesn’t even bother knocking, barging straight in. Dream and George are curled up on the bed, both asleep. Dream’s mask is still off, his face buried in George’s neck. The whole scene is overwhelmingly domestic, he can’t help his small glance towards Sapnap.

The other just snorts, poking Dream with his foot, continuing until he wakes up. Dream grabs Sapnap’s ankle, stopping him from poking him again.

“What?” His voice is muffled.

“I have a child to deposit, we’re going to have a bit of ‘fun’, and it’s not appropriate for someone his age.”

Dream perks up at that, sitting up from where he was previously laying, “You can use this room as long as we get to have some ‘fun’ too,”

Sapnap considers it for a second, “Fine, wake George.”

Quackity watches as Dream turns around, shoving George in the shoulder, rolling him over fully. George flails his arms around, grasping at thin air. He lands a soft hit on Dream’s face, making him chuckle as he dodges out of the way of any more attacks.

Dream stands from the bed, dragging George with him. He pulls the other to the floor, watching and waiting for him to get up. He doesn’t, Dream opting to sling him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

George doesn’t even complain, just blinking at Quackity a few times, waking up more as Sapnap places Tubbo down on the bed, gently. Dream then drags Sapnap out of the room, Quackity following behind the trio as they all but run back to Quackity’s room.

He pushes his window open when they re-enter, watching as Sapnap shuts the door firmly. He opens the small bag, pulling one of the rolls from it. He lights one of his fingers on fire, setting the paper on fire before handing it to Dream. The other accepts it, putting George down on the bed as he does so.

He takes a short drag, exhaling it slowly, passing the blunt to George after a moment. Quackity gets handed one a second later, looking up to Sapnap before taking a short inhale of the smoke. He barely manages not to cough, the smoke tickling the back of his throat in a familiar but unfamiliar way. He feels it curl down his throat, moving back out of his lungs as he exhales.

He already feels a bit fuzzy around the edges, letting out a small laugh. Karl sticks his hand out, asking for it next. Quackity hands it to him, watching his face as he takes a short drag, blowing the smoke back out into Quackity’s face. They smile at each other; Karl’s cheeks are dusted a light pink as they stare into the other’s eyes.

Sapnap flops down on the bed between them, interrupting the small moment they were having. Quackity takes the blunt back off of Karl, inhaling again, the smoke more familiar this time as it blurs his mind. He grins again, feeling more free than he had in a while. He shifts his wings behind him, wincing at the cracks that resonate from his bones.

He looks over to his desk, debating whether he should put the brace back on, Sam had told him not to. He looks away, over to where Dream and George are sat. Dream grins at him, George completely unaware, busy having a long drag of the weed.

Quackity watches, his smile growing as Dream pulls a small, long and black cylinder from his pocket. They all hear the click of the button, George’s head whipping over to look at Dream’s hand. His pupils are fucking massive, the black taking up almost all of his eye.

Quackity sees the red dot appear on the floor below them a few seconds before George does. His pupils expand even more, eyes tracking the movements of the small light. They’re all watching him now, and Quackity just prays that it isn’t as bad as the office incident. He watches as George tries to jump the dot, failing in the take-off, feet getting tangled in the duvet and hitting the floor with a loud thump.

…

Ponk sees Sam turn his had away, looking out of the lounge, back down the corridor. He had heard the heavy thump too, but he opted to ignore it. He pulls Sam back down as he tries to stand from his seat, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“Leave them be, they’re having fun,”

“What if one of them is hurt?” Sam is worried, that much is obvious. Ponk just rolls his eyes.

“If they get hurt, they’ll probably come to us, and I’m a medic, don’t fret so much.”

“I think I’m gonna go check on them, just in case,” Sam stands halfway before Ponk pulls him back down.

“They’ll be fine,” he reiterates, “plus, don’t you want to spend time with me?” He bats his eyes once before dissolving into laughs, Sam beginning to laugh as well.

“I’ll leave them alone, for now, but any more suspicious sounds and I’m going to check on them,”

“Sounds fine,”

…

Quackity snorts as George narrowly avoids crashing face-first into his wall, standing up on unsteady legs to try and reach the dot. Dream is wheezing beside him, sounding like he’s slowly deflating, barely pausing for breath as he laughs.

Quackity takes another drag of the blunt, smiling appreciatively before it’s plucked from his hands. Karl grins at him as he takes it, holding it delicately between his fingers. The open window is doing a good job at ventilating the room, allowing most of the smoke to drift outside. There is some lingering in the corners, but it’s not much.

Sapnap lays between them, his legs thrown over Quackity’s lap, his head resting in Karl’s. he’s muttering nonsense to himself, a few of the things he says making them all giggle. George narrowly misses the dot again, looking down in disappointment when it disappears, Dream turning the laser pointer off.

George makes his way slowly back to the bed, flopping down on Dream, landing heavily on his chest. Dream lets out a small wheeze, patting George on the back of the head. Quackity envies what they have, the one clear thought he has is that he wants what they have, the familiar closeness and the easy familiarity.

He looks back over to Sapnap and Karl, watching as the two giggle with each other, cheeks turning red as they laugh and gasp for breath, whatever small thing had caught their attention infinitely hilarious. Quackity smiles at them, a wave of fondness washing over him as he watches the two people he loves.

Karl looks over to him, catching his eye. He beams right back, reaching an arm out. He grabs Quackity by the hood of his sweater, pulling him into the small hug they’re in. Quackity allows himself to be dragged down, only moving slightly to avoid his wings getting crushed.

They’ve stubbed out the blunts at this point, the small ends left, abandoned, on the bedside table. Quackity snuggles into their hold, soaking up the warmth of Sapnap, allowing Karl’s slightly colder body to even out the temperature. 

He feels someone bury their face into his hair. His hair. He reaches a hand up to his head, patting for where his beanie normally is. It’s not there, probably having slipped off at some point during the last…while. He’s not quite sure how long it’s been. The sun is beginning to move past its peak, so it’s been a while.

He looks around a bit, looking for his beanie, covering his head with his hood temporarily, ignoring the small whine he receives for covering his hair. He looks around, craning his neck, looking around the blind spot on his left. He makes eye contact with Dream, watching as the other reaches his hand behind him, picking something up before tossing it in Quackity’s direction.

It hits him straight in the face, his beanie. He pulls his hood down quickly, going to pull it back onto his head. A gentle hand around his wrist stops him.

“Don’t put it back on,” Sapnap whines, “your hair is nice, and we never get to see it.” He holds onto Quackity’s wrist, looking into his eye pleadingly. Quackity falters slightly, looking up to Sapnap, looking at him as he asks him not to cover his head with his beanie.

He grips the fabric tightly between his hands, pulling it back away from his head, lowering it. He holds it tightly, looking downwards, away from the other two. He feels someone brush the hair behind his ear, freezing as the touch the edge of his ear.

He hears someone make a small sound of surprise above him, their fingers brushing over the feathers at the edge of his ears. He tenses up more, feeling their hand pull away. The same hand moves to under his chin, cupping his face and pulling it upwards. He looks into Sapnap’s eyes, the orange irises barely visible around his expanded pupils.

“I didn’t know avians had feathers on their ears.”

“Well, we do, most are a bit longer.” He looks away, eyes darting to the side. He can hear faint snores behind them, either George or Dream, or both, having fallen asleep. Karl’s arms are wrapped around his middle, head resting on the back of his neck. He can feel his breath ghosting over the skin there, still awake, obvious from the occasional movement.

“They’re a really nice yellow,” Sapnap murmurs, reaching a hand out again and brushing his fingers over the pale yellow feathers that grew there. His hand was soft, no intention of hurting him behind it. He forces himself to relax, reassuring himself that he can trust Sapnap, he’s not going to do anything to him.

He opens his eyes again, looking at Sapnap. His eyes glance down to the other’s lips. They’re a soft shade of pink. The skin looks soft, he wants to reach out and touch it. He does, his restraint snapped in half by the drugs clouding his mind, fogging up his reactions.

The skin on Sapnap’s lips is soft, slightly chewed off in places, a nervous habit of the other, something he did when he thought no one else was watching. Sapnap looks back to him, a small look of surprise on his face at the contact.

He grins, “Like what you see Q?”

Quackity blushes, pulling his hand back. He doesn’t get very far before his wrist is being caught in the other’s grip again, pulling his hand back towards him. He rests it over his heart. Quackity can feel the steady rhythm of the other’s heart, the steady beat. 

He spreads his finger out, splaying his hand over his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart. He can feel the warmth emanating from the other. He freezes for a second when he feels a pair of lips brush against the back of his neck.

He hears a snore he was pretty sure was a muffled snicker. He ignores it, knowing Dream is probably the one laughing at him.

He watches as Sapnap moves closer to him, shuffling over the bed until they’re practically nose to nose. He blinks at the other, Sapnap blinking back. He feels his breath wash over his face. He lets Sapnap move closer, closing his eyes as their lips connect. It’s a brief kiss, the contact only lingering for a moment before he’s pulling away again. He smiles at Sapnap, his face slightly warm.

He hears a noise of complaint behind him, the only warning he got before he was pulled over, Karl rolling him over to face him. They come to a stop, nose to nose, Karl staring straight into his eyes. Quackity blinks at him slowly, the same gesture he had done with Sapnap. He watches as Karl blinks back, equally as slow.

He sees Dream roll over, watching him pull George away from their small gathering. He likes the small amount of privacy it gives them.

Quackity is the one to lean in this time, pressing their lips together, feeling the soft brush of skin against his. He pulls away after a second, feeling slightly awkward. He laughs quietly, some of the fog hanging over his mind clearing.

His face feels warm, and he’s pretty sure he’s red. He plants his face into Karl’s hoodie, burying his face in the mismatched fabric. He feels Sapnap move up behind him, moving closer, wrapping his arms around them both. He feels Sapnap lean over him, hovering over Karl for a second, moving closer for a moment before pulling away. He settles down on the other side of Quackity, carefully moving his wings out of the way.

He feels the demon run his hands over his feathers, letting out a small chirp at the contact. He presses his face further into Karl’s hoodie, hoping they didn’t hear that. Neither comment, but he hears a fond sigh from above him, a face burying itself in his hair.

…

Dream stirs after a while, the moon already high in the sky. It’s just him and George in the room. The moon is approaching its peak, so he pulls his admin panel up, brushing his hand through George’s hair as a goodbye, tapping a few coordinates into the panel.

He disappears with a small pop, a few purple particles shimmering in the air. His mask fixes itself on his face as he travels. He appears at the designated site. Melting into vision, barely startling the person waiting for him.

They turn towards him with a bored look on their face, a bottle gripped in their hand, a book in the other.

Dream holds his hand out, fingers closing tightly around the leather-bound book. In return, he hands over a few shimmering books and a set of armour.

Schlatt sticks his hand out, “Pleasure doing business with you, I’ll see you in two days.”

Dream nods stiffly, pulling his panel back up, popping back out of existence with the signature purple sparks fizzling out on the grass below him.

Schlatt stands, the silver moon above him illuminating his position. A figure moves out of the shadow of the tree beside him. Their ears twitch, a bushy tail waving slightly behind them.

Schlatt laughs, a short, raspy, wheeze. They join in, their laughter more of a bark, like a fox, their long coat swishes behind them, the tattered edges swishing in the slight breeze. Schlatt sobers up quickly, dropping the bottle onto the grass, allowing it to roll around, spilling the alcohol from its neck.

He looks up to the moon, a pure white smile, too many teeth in the grin for it to be natural, it stretched across his face. His eyes flick to the figure beside him, watching as the light a small match, illuminating their face. Their hair hangs over their sunken eyes, the brown mess covering half of their face.

“Are you ready for blood?”

“Absolutely.”


	15. Chapter 15

Quackity woke up in the middle of the night. Moonlight washing over his pillow, the moon steadily rising, nearing its peak. He feels groggy and disorientated. 

He looks around him, blinking slowly, trying to see better. George and Dream are still on one end of the bed, curled up together. He’s sandwiched inbetween Sapnap and Karl, their arms wrapped around him and his wings spread over them.

There’s one person missing from his room, Tubbo. He faintly remembers taking him to George’s room. His brain tells him to go check on him.

He slips out from between Sapnap and Karl, slipping out of the room and ignoring their protests, the small mumbles they let out when he disappears, taking his wings with him. 

He slips down the corridor, socked feet padding softly over the floors. He reaches George’s door in a few seconds, pushing it open and peeking inside. Tubbo is lying on the bed, curled up around a small bee plushie.

“He’s fine,” Quackity jumps at Sam’s sudden appearance, spinning around to face the taller, his feathers ruffle slightly, sticking up, puffing out. He flattens them back down when he sees who it is, swiping a hasty hand over the ruffled mess.

“I know, I just needed to check on him,” he crosses his arms, watching Tubbo from the corner of his eye. Sam is watching him, no mask, dressed in more comfortable clothes. He looks like he’s only just heading to bed.

“I hope none of you got too hurt earlier,”

Earlier? His mind blanks slightly, trying to figure out why some of them would have gotten hurt.

“Oh, no, no. Dream brought a laser pointer with him,” That seems to make a few things make sense to Sam.

“I need to tell him to stop doing that, one incident was enough,” Sam sighs, shaking his head, a small smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

“Tell me about it,” Quackity winces slightly, “I think it took us a week to fully clean up the office.”

“You’ll have to tell me about that at some point,” Sam laughs, his eyes darting over Quackity’s shoulder, back down the hall towards his room.

“I think there’s some people waiting for you,” Quackity turns around, watching as Sapnap walks down the hallway slowly, Karl trailing slightly behind him. He doesn’t know why they’re here, he left for barely a minute.

He lets Sapnap latch onto him, stumbling slightly when he leans most of his weight on him. Karl moves around Sapnap, grabbing Quackity’s arm, beginning to drag him back towards his room. He lets them do so, allowing himself to be dragged back to bed.

When they get back, he notices that Dream is gone, the small space he had taken up empty, George curled around empty air. He assumes he had an errand to run, leaving in the middle of the night to sort it out.

He allows Karl to tug him back onto the bed, curling up against him. He feels Sapnap settle on his other side, eyes already slipping shut.

…

Quackity woke up feeling warm and groggy. His head felt like it had been filled with smoke, clouding any semi-coherent thoughts he might have. He lets out a small groan at that, shifting from side to side, wincing as his wings crack slightly.

He probably needs to put the braces back on at this point, but he’s warm, and it’s comfortable where he’s lying, pressed between two people.

He blinks his eyes open, looking up towards the person that he all but lying on. It was Karl, his head tipped back, mouth slightly open as he snores lightly, he’s asleep. He looks peaceful, face relaxed and skin smooth.

He feels someone shift behind him, head moving from where it was resting by his side. He hears them breathe out heavily, a small huff of air. He twists his head around, coming face to face with a barely awake Sapnap.

They blink at each other blearily for a moment. His stomach rumbling startles them both slightly. A sharp ache in his stomach makes itself known, a few hunger pangs. He can’t remember the last time he ate. He thinks it was just before his conversation with George, so not too long ago, but that was breakfast, he hadn’t had lunch or dinner.

He goes to roll off of Karl, trying to get up. Karl pulls him back down, holding onto him as Quackity awkwardly half kneels. His face is pressed into Karl’s hoodie, his wings draped around him in his failed attempt to get up.

“Come on Karl,” he tries to prise his hands off, “I want to get up.”

“Noo,” Karl whines, keeping his grip firm on Quackity, not even bothering to open his eyes. Quackity relaxes against him, waiting until his grip loosens. He then pulls out of his grip, almost falling backwards off the bed as he does so. His wings flare out on either side of him, a few bones cracking as he does so, grinding against the others in his wings.

He stabilises himself, sliding off the bed and standing up. His clothes feel stiff, the fabric sticking to his skin in a slightly uncomfortable way. He looks back to the bed, watching as Karl rolls over, capturing Sapnap in his grip and holding him close. Sapnap doesn’t seem to mind, allowing himself to be pulled into Karl’s side.

George and Dream are still there, curled up around each other. They make a good pair, he thinks, they balance each other out nicely. Dream’s chaotic nature is slightly mellowed by George’s more peaceful one, content to sleep the days away.

He pulls his wardrobe door open, peering inside before grabbing the first thing he sees. He doesn’t find any jumpers in there, looking around once more before turning back to the rest of the room. There’s a white hoodie lying discarded on the floor. 

He snatches it up, grabbing his beanie before making his way out of the room and down the hallway, towards the bathroom. The door isn’t locked, so he pushes it open, assuming no one is in there. There isn’t anyone inside, so he turns around and locks the door behind him.

He dumps his clothes on the counter, turning the shower on and waiting for the water to heat up, stripping out of his other clothes as he does so. He sticks his hand under the running water, letting the warm water wash over his skin.

He steps under the stream, allowing it to run over his skin, running over his wings and making them hang slightly heavier on his back. He grabs the nearest thing of soap, scrubbing himself clean, washing any grit or dirt free.

His skin is slightly pinker than before when he’s finished, but he feels cleaner than he had before. He washes his hair quickly, rinsing it before turning the water off. He steps out of the shower, dripping wet, his wings discarding the water that had been running over them, sliding cleanly off his waterproof feathers. He supposes there are some benefits to being part duck.

He grabs a nearby towel, drying himself off quickly, pulling the clothes on when he’s less damp. He slips the hoodie over his head, his wings hanging out the bottom, no helpful slits in the back for him to shove his wings through. He’s reluctant to cut some into the back, unsure of who it belongs to.

He doesn’t pull his beanie back on just yet, his hair still rather wet from his shower. He gathers his dirty clothes in his arms, unlocking the door and pushing it open with his shoulder, walking back to his room. He passes Sam in the hallway, sending a small greeting his way.

He pushes his door open, dumping the dirty clothes in a corner he has now designated is for dirty clothes. He shoves them up against his wall with his foot, poking at the fabric with his toe. He turns to his desk, watching the braces as they sit innocently on the wooden surface.

He pulls the hoodie off, over his head. He picks the braces up, beginning with the left wing, rationalising that it would be the hardest one to do. He has to twist his head round the whole way to see with his right eye.

He starts the way he watches Sam do it, clipping the first bit by the base of his wing, working his way further down the wing, pushing the bones back into place and allowing the brace to keep them there. The metal settles over his feathers, the leather softening their grip.

He clips the last one om, fastening it shut. He turns to the other one, clipping this one on too. This one goes easier, able to see the wing better from his angle. He drops his wing from his grip once he’s done, tucking it back up against him in a comfortable position.

He slips the hoodie back over his head, puling the sleeves over his hands. It’s way too big on him, the hem falling down to just above his knees, the sleeves covering his hands. He’s pretty sure he’s seen someone wearing it before but can’t quite remember who. He pulls his beanie onto his head, his hair more dry than it had been earlier.

He heads to the lounge, passing through it to the kitchen, sitting down next to Ponk, the only other person with Sam. He sends him a small greeting, sitting down in his chair and slumping forward.

“Sit up straight,” Sam reprimands, glancing over to him, away from the pan he’s tending to on the stove.

“Yes, dad.” He froze, staring down at the table in front of him, ignoring the way the other people in the room still as well. He hears someone clear their throat.

“Have you put your wing braces back on yet?”

Quackity’s cheeks darkens slightly, embarrassment coating his thoughts, “Uh, yeah, I did.”

“Good, good,” Sam turns back to the stove, brushing past what had just happened. Quackity is grateful for that, unsure on where it had come from as well.

Sam sets a plat of food down in front of him, pushing it under his nose. He sets two other plates down on the table, taking the seat on the other side of Ponk. Quackity eats quickly, grateful for the food.

As he finishes his plate Tubbo comes stumbling into the room, blinking sleep from his eyes and flicking his ears back and forth. He collapses into the chair beside Quackity, leaning up against his shoulder, head resting on the top.

His horns have grown a bit, peeking out of his messy hair a bit more than they usually do. Quackity lets him lean there until his breakfast is ready, pushing him off slightly, trying to get him to eat. Tubbo does so easily, shovelling a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, eating quickly.

Quackity looks around the room, eyes settling on the window. He looks out of it, looking at how nice the forest looks in the early morning light.

“How would you feel about a walk, Tubbo?”

Tubbo hums, turning towards him, chewing his food slowly as he considers. He nods once, turning back to his food. Quackity takes that as a yes, returning his gaze to the window, watching as a few birds soar past.

Tubbo finishes a few minutes after, pushing his plate away from him and standing. Quackity follows, leading the way out of the room and towards the entrance. They pull their shoes on, checking they have their swords on them in case they run into any lingering zombies or skeletons.

With that checked, he flicks the lever, watching as the doors slide open. He steps out into the sun for what is the first time since the festival. He allows the warmth to wash over him, smiling slightly at the warmth on his face.

He shuts the door behind him, watching as the wall slides back into place, as if it had never been there in the first place.

They begin to walk, moving through the greenery, brushing past branches and the like. They see more birds, a few squirrels, but mainly birds. Quackity watches as they take to the sky, his wings aching to do the same.

They come to a small clearing after about half an hour of walking. Quackity sits down on the grass, leaning up against a fallen log. Tubbo sits down beside him, leaning into his side slightly. They watch the clouds together, noting the birds that fly overhead.

“Are you gonna go flying?” Tubbo’s question startles Quackity slightly, having grown used to the comfortable silence they had been sat in for the past few minutes.

“I would, but then I would have to leave you down here alone.”

Tubbo shoves his shoulder slightly, smiling slightly, “I’m not a baby, I can take care of myself you know,”

“I know,” he sighs, looking back up to the inviting skies, “I just haven’t flown in a while.”

“How long is a while?”

“Before Schlatt’s presidency.”

Tubbo whirls to face him, “That’s over six months, over half a year,” He grabs Quackity’s arm, pulling him up. He begins to tug on the hoodie he’s wearing, pulling it off of Quackity. Quackity helps by pulling it off fully, spreading his wings slightly from where they had been trapped under the material.

“Up,” Tubbo points up to the sky. Quackity rolls his eyes.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re being more of a parent than me,”

“Everyone needs someone to take care of them, including you.” Tubbo looks down to the hoodie he’s holding, eyes trailing over the fabric. He smirks, looking back up to Quackity. He has no clue what that means.

“Looks like you’ve been doing some things,” Tubbo’s smirk grows, watching him. Quackity doesn’t have a clue what that means.

Tubbo sighs, “I know who this hoodie belongs to Quackity. I’m just happy for you.”

Quackity does not delve into that, opting to spread his wings and launch himself into the air, shooting past the treetops.

He comes to a stop several feet above the tallest trees, beating his wings slowly as he looks around himself. He forgot how much he missed this.

He barrelled to the side, relishing in the way the air rushes over his skin, weaving through his feathers. They’re like gentle hands, guiding him higher into the sky as he twirls, dancing on the breeze. He lets out a small whoop, his voice getting snatched away from him on the breeze, flying higher and higher into the sky.

God, he had fucking missed this.

He flies for what feels like hours, adrenaline pumping through his brain, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he allows the waves of adrenaline to wash over him, fuelling him as he darts around, wings catching the breeze and sending him twirling. He dances in the sky like the breeze is his partner.

It’s familiar to him, the rhythm of the swaying wind, how to keep in step with his partner, avoid getting left behind.

He freezes as he hears a panicked shout below him, eyes darting to the small clearing he had left Tubbo in. He knows that Tubbo told him he would be fine, but he dives down anyway, crashing through the branches towards where he had left Tubbo.

The white hoodie he had been wearing is left in the middle, dirt and leaves kicked up around it, as if there had been a struggle.

He picks it up, holding it close to his chest. He pulls it over his head, looking around for where Tubbo might have gone.

“Tubbo?” He calls out, voice echoing eerily through the too quiet forest. He doesn’t get a response.

He hears a twig crack behind him, whirling around. There’s no one there. He shivers, the feeling of dread increasing.

He hears another twig break, whirling around to face that, searching the shadows as best s he can without entering them.

He hears a soft sound, a rustling of leaves, as if something, or someone, was being dragged over it. His wings beg to be set free again, but he presses them against his back, keeping them tucked safely under the hoodie.

He hears another twig crack behind him, whirling around and seeing a figure stood in the treeline. He can’t make out their face, they’re stood too far back, in a patch of shadow, for him to make it out.

He can see their silhouette, he can see the ears perched on top of their head, the bushy tail swaying behind them.

A twig cracks behind him again.

He whirls around, coming face to face with an almost identical silhouette, this one is taller than the other. Two fox hybrids, stood in the middle of the woods, watching him from the shadows. He only knows two fox hybrids.

He turns so he can see both of them at the same time, backing away from them.

He bumps into someone else, whirling around to face the person.

Their horns curl around their face.

Their fist is readying itself, swinging towards his face.

He feels it make contact.

He’s not awake to feel himself make contact with the packed earth below him.


	16. Chapter 16

Tubbo blinked his eyes open slowly, his eyelids sticking together slightly. He looks around quickly, taking note of his surroundings. His ears flick, looking for any sound. There’s nothing, complete silence. It’s slightly unnerving. He doesn’t like it.

He sits up, rubbing his head. His hand comes away a bit sticky, a small patch of blood coating his hand. The back of his head stings a bit, probably from where he was slammed into a tree. He shot up, stumbling as his legs get tangled up in themselves.

He looks around quickly, looking for Quackity. He knows that the avian had been off flying when he was attacked. He doesn’t know what happened afterwards, he was rather busy being knocked out.

He recognises the area he’s in, running towards where he knows the clearing is. It’s empty when he reaches it, the midday sun shining down on the area, dappling the ground with the shadows of leaves.

There is no sound from any of the birds anymore, the air silent and still. He shudders slightly at how eerie it is. He scans the clearing, staying in the treeline, wary of any more people lingering in the shadows.

His eyes catch on something lying by the log. He darts out into the clearing, bending down and snatching it before darting back. He glances down at it once he’s safe and has to bite back a small cry.

It’s Quackity’s hat, the dark material stained with a darker colour. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what it is, Tubbo has seen his fair share of blood stains. He looks up, checking around the clearing quickly. No one else seems to be there. Good.

He runs back into the trees, heading back to where Sam’s house is, jumping nimbly over the logs and ducking under the low-hanging branches. He moves through the forest swiftly, fear driving his body faster.

He bursts from the treeline, running to the stone wall and flicking the concealed lever. He runs in, barely remembering to close the door behind him.

“Sam!” He calls out for the older, running down the hallway. He passes Dream as he runs, the masked man turning to watch him go by, dragging George towards the kitchen. He runs past him, ignoring the look he gets sent, unable to stop and decipher what the masked man is thinking.

He bursts into the lounge, startling Ponk, making him drop the book he was holding. Sam whirls towards him, watching him closely. He watches as the creeper hybrid’s eyes narrow, darting down to where he’s holding Quackity’s beanie, clenched between his hands, knuckles white.

“Sam, I-”

“What happened Tubbo? Where’s Quackity?”

“What’s that about Quackity?” Tubbo freezes as he hears Sapnap’s voice behind him, whirling around to face the older, holding the beanie against his chest. He’s missing his signature white hoodie, wearing a red one over his black turtleneck instead. 

Tubbo freezes slightly. Logically, he knows that Sapnap won’t do anything to him, but he also knows how protective Sapnap gets over his friends. He swallows nervously.

“I-I don’t know what, what happened, I, I swear.” He holds his hands up, trying to calm the situation before it even escalated.

“Okay, it’s okay Tubbo,” Sam walks up to him, hands outstretched, “We just want to know where Quackity is.” He doesn’t sound angry, his voice is soft, comforting.

“We, we went for a walk, you know?” Sam nods, “And we stopped in a clearing, and, and, I encour-aged him to go fly-ing.” He stutters, voice cutting out between syllables.

“He, he, agreed. He we-went up into the sky, and wa-was flying around,” he inhales shakily, his chest feeling slightly tight from all of the eyes on him, Dream and George standing a few metres behind Sapnap and Karl, watching him talk.

“I, I heard a twig snap i-in the forest behind me, so, so I went to go check. I, I thought it would just be, be another mob or some-something.” He breathes again slowly, trying to calm his racing heart, mentally berating himself for the stupid stuttering. It wasn’t something appreciated. Ever.

“I, I, something came at me, I don’t kn-know what it was, just that, that it was fast, and it, it got me to the floor. I, I re-remember calling out for, for help. They, they picked me up, up and slammed me into a tr-tree. I thi-think it was a tree at least.” He rubs his arm, one of his ears flicking as he looks to the ground, avoiding the worried look Sam is giving him.

“So, what then?” Sam urges him, stepping closer, bringing his hands closer to Tubbo as well, hesitating slightly before settling on his shoulder.

“I, uh, I woke up in th-the forest, ly-lying on the floor. There was some bl-blood on the back of my he-head,” he reaches his hand up to touch the back of his head, fingers coming away slightly red. It’s still bleeding then.

“I, I went to the cle-clearing we had been s-sat in. There, there was no one there, ju-just me, a-and this h-hat.” He held Quackity’s beanie up, knowing that everyone in the room recognised it.

He hears a sharp intake of breath behind him, cringing in on himself, tensing the whole of his body up, ready for any kind of impact.

“Did you see any recognisable features of your attacker?” Sam pulls his attention back, bending down to look in his eyes.

“Uh, no, no, it was re-really dark where I was, a bunch o-of shadows. The-they were a hybrid of some kind, they ha-had claws. I kn-ow that much.”

Sam nods slowly, his eyes darting over his shoulder, towards someone behind him. He stands there, gripping Quackity’s beanie for a moment longer. When the first tear slips down his cheek it’s like a dam burst, a few more following before he’s stood there, shaking and trembling, tears streaming down his face silently.

Sam hasn’t noticed, still silently communicating with whoever he was looking at. Tubbo jumps at another hand on his shoulder, relaxing once he realises who it is.

He looks up to George, his vision blurry, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. He gives the other a small smile, he knows it was a useless attempt, his reassurance falling flat.

He allows George to awkwardly pull him closer, patting his head a bit as he cries into the other’s sweater. He’s grateful for it, knowing that George struggles to sort his own emotions, finding it harder to vocalize them to get himself the help he needs.

He’s grateful for the comfort George provides nonetheless, the familiarity feels safe, multiple nights with the three of them curled up in one of their rooms, seeking shelter with their friends. He sobs a bit harder at that, there’s only two of them here, one person missing, the only thing he has of his a crumpled and blood-stained beanie.

“I, uh, I might know who took him,” dream volunteers, literally putting his hand up, as if he’s in class. Everyone turns to him, including George, but he seems to already know what Dream is talking about, furrowing his brow in a question. Dream waves him off.

“Schlatt called me the other day,” he hears a sharp intake of breath from Sapnap, the man stood close to him, “George was there with me. He called me, drunk out of his mind, asking me for a favour if he returned something he has of mine.”

“What could he have of yours?” Sam sounds confused, “You have infinite power at your fingertips here, what could he have that you need him to return.”

“He had a book,” Tubbo has no clue what that means, but Sam and George seem to, Sam’s eyes widening slightly.

“Does he have an important one?” Sam sounds worried.

“Yes, arguably the most important one,”

“Which is?” Sapnap sounded just as confused as he did, looking around the whole room.

“There are books, each admin is given them, it’s what allows us to do certain things. Schlatt stole the Book of Living, that’s just the closest translation to English though, it’s normally called the B𝙹𝙹ꖌ 𝙹⎓ l╎⍊╎リ⊣.”

Tubbo has no fucking clue what he just said, but it sounded similar to whatever language enderman speak, just less warped, more English pronunciation. He’s pretty sure he’s heard Phil speak it before, but not the way Dream had just done.

Dream chuckles, “It’s a dead language now, but all admins speak it, we encode things with it.”

“All your other books are safe though, right?” Sam sounds worried, which, understandable, if it’s what gave admins power then they should probably be kept safe.

“All of the original copies are safe,” Tubbo doesn’t know if he’s imagining things, but he’s pretty sure that Dream’s head tilted towards Karl, the other’s eyes darting away from where they had been staring at the mask. He wonders what’s going on there.

“What are the names of the other books?” It interested him.

“B𝙹𝙹ꖌ 𝙹⎓ o∷↸ᒷ∷, B𝙹𝙹ꖌ 𝙹⎓ c𝙹リℸ ̣ ╎リ⚍ᔑℸ ̣ ╎𝙹, B𝙹𝙹ꖌ 𝙹⎓ !¡𝙹∴ᒷ∷, B𝙹𝙹ꖌ 𝙹⎓ ᓵ𝙹リℸ ̣ ∷𝙹ꖎ.”

He clutches the beanie tighter, looking down as he realises what he’s holding. They had gotten side-tracked.

“This is interesting and all, but why would Schlatt bargain with you?”

“He wanted me to kill Quackity,”

Tubbo’s heart drops, staring the creepy mask straight in the face, “You didn’t,” he breathes, eyes widening as he stares at Dream.

“Of course I didn’t, what do you take me for? A monster? I don’t turn on my allies.”

“So, what? Schlatt has Quackity and intends on getting you to kill him?”

“I suppose so,”

They pause for a moment, unsure on how to continue.

The ringing of a comms interrupts them, all turning towards Dream as he pulls it from his pocket. The admin fumbles to answer it.

“I did your job for you, get your ass over to Manburg. You have one hour before I do that for you too, I won’t hesitate to take the book back.” Schlatt doesn’t wait for a response, hanging up his end of the call, ending it with a small notification sound.

They stand for a second in complete peace.

Sapnap turns and dashes from the room, Karl running after him. George turns to Dream, speaking rapid fire in the supposedly dead language. Sam turns to Ponk, and both of them run down the corridor as well. 

Tubbo is left stood in the middle of a now almost empty room. George and Dream are speaking back and forth in the language, leaving him confused.

“What’s going on?” George turns to him, as if he had forgotten he was there.

“Oh, uh, we’re gonna go to Manburg, get Quackity outta there.”

“I’m coming,”

Dream doesn’t even hesitate, shoving shining netherite armour in his direction, leaving him to put it on. Tubbo holds it carefully, watching as the enchantments shimmer over the surface. He can feel the power it exudes. This was much more powerful than anything he owned.

He slips it on quickly, familiar with the routine of suiting up quickly. Sapnap re-enters the room, fully kitted out in his netherite, Karl stumbling behind him as he struggles to tighten a strap on his chestplate.

He comes to a stop when he sees they’re still there, turning to Karl and helping him with the chestplate. Tubbo turns away when he sees them moving closer, Sapnap holding Karl’s face between his hands, talking to him in a whisper.

He forgoes the helmet, knowing it would be uncomfortable with his horns. George does the same, flicking his ear as Sam and Ponk re-enter the room. Sam’s holding his trident, Ponk with an axe in his grip.

Dream surveys their small party, pulling up his admin panel when he sees they’re all ready.

…

Quackity wakes up in a small obsidian box. The cold stone presses in on all sides, the dark colour threatening. The small shards stick into him, poking at his wings.

His wings feel different, more out of place than they should. He realises why when he looks at them. The braces are gone, leaving his wings bare and barely coordinated. He grimaces as he tucks them up against his back, sitting down on the cold floor.

He doesn’t bother to bang on the obsidian. He knows he should probably be panicked, but this small box is intimately familiar to him. He knows which side will slide open when he’s faced enough ‘punishment’. He knows exactly how many times he can punch the obsidian until he breaks his hand, it’s three times.

He knows that this is probably illegal on many levels, the kidnapping, the trapping, all of it. His head thuds back against the wall, a few shards sticking into his hair. His beanie is gone too, great.

He hangs his head, looking down to where his hands have settled in his lap.

He has nothing to do but wait.


	17. Chapter 17

Sapnap watches as Dream begins to hit a few keys on his panel, opening up more holograms, tapping things on those screens as well. He swipes all of them away after a moment, leaving just the main panel behind.

It glows softly, the faint green light illuminating his mask. He looks up to them all, his head staying fixed in place, surveying them from underneath his mask. He watches as dream hits a button on his panel.

The room around them warps slightly, stretching upwards as his body begins to feel a bit lighter. He grabs for Karl’s hand, holding on tightly as the purple magic swirls around them, solidifying against their forms.

It disappears as quickly as it came, the purple mist dissipating quickly, leaving him a little dizzy. He blinks a few times, looking around. 

They’re not in Manburg, he knows that much. He can see the beginning of the outskirts in the distance, just over the small hill they’re stood beside. Everyone else is there, the only people seemingly unaffected by their short jump are Dream and George. Figures.

Dream turns to the small group, “I have a meeting to attend, try and get in and out as quickly as possible.” He taps a few more keys on his panel and is gone, a few particles floating to the ground, sinking into the grass and disappearing.

“Alright,” Sam steps forward, “you heard him. Split up, go in pairs. Try and find Quackity.” Sam begins to walk away, Ponk following behind him. Sapnap sticks with Karl, keeping a loose hold on the other’s hand. Tubbo seems content to stick with George, looking at the city ahead of them nervously.

Karl pulls him forward, towards the city. His ears are slightly drawn back, the small glances he sends Sapnap making his anxiety nervous. Sapnap runs his hand over Karl’s, brushing lightly over the small black ring he wears on his middle finger. He grips his hand tightly, falling into step beside him.

They enter the city slowly, weaving between the tall and imposing buildings, heading towards the centre.

…

Tubbo shifts from foot to foot, fidgeting as he stands still. George is looking over the city in front of them, at least, he assumes so, he can’t see his eyes from under his goggles. He knows that’s the point of them, but he doesn’t know where George is thinking of heading.

He knows where he would head, George is probably thinking the same thing. He hears him sigh, a long and drawn-out sound.

“I think we both know where he is.” George’s voice is serious, looking to him. He offers him a small smile, an attempt at comfort. It doesn’t really work, but he appreciates it nonetheless.

“Yeah,” Tubbo sighs, he pushes away any thoughts of screaming, the sound of fists on obsidian, “can you remember how to get there?”

“Not really. Only times I’ve been there I was delirious.”

“It’s probably somewhere in the centre, right? Best defences there.”

George hums, “Logic checks out, might as well start there,” he looks back up to the buildings in front of him, “roads or rooftops?”

…

Sam walks quickly, gripping his trident tightly, holding it at the ready in case anybody tries to jump him. Ponk walks closely beside him, footsteps silent. Sam can barely see the other’s face, the armour and mask making it hard to decipher what he’s feeling.

The small flames that dance on his fingertips and the smoke rising from his footprints are a good indicator though.

He rests his hand on the other’s shoulder, bringing them both to a stop.

“You need to calm down. We can’t set the whole place on fire,” he considers for a second, looking around, “not yet at least.”

“You say that as if you’re not one second away from exploding Sammy, literally.” Ponk has a point, and he knows it, crossing his arms and looking up at the other.

“Yes, yes. It’s probably not great to go around as a ticking time bomb but,” he sighs, glancing to the side, allowing his eyes to drift, he’s surprised by the lack of people.

“But?”

“But there are other more important things right now, like finding Quackity.”

Sam begins to walk again, leaving Ponk a few steps behind him, running to catch up.

“You really care for him, don’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t? He’s barely old enough to deal with the responsibility of a child, let alone being a vice president. I just helped him a few times, and he stuck.”

“What do you mean the responsibility of a child?”

“He’s a dad?” Sam shoots Ponk a confused look, not understanding his confusion.

“Who’s dad is he?”

“Tubbo’s?”

“I thought he was Schlatt’s kid, ram horns ‘n all.”

“He is, Quackity married Schlatt, he’s his step-dad.”

“Oh,” Ponk lets out a slow breath, “So that didn’t work out very well for him then.”

“No. It didn’t.”

“What about Sapnap and Karl?”

“They’re good kids, I don’t see a problem with it.”

“Not even the fact that one of them somehow has access to drugs and a pet dragon?”

“I’m not Sapnap’s dad, that’s up to Bad and Skeppy to sort out.”

Sam pulled Ponk into an alleyway behind him, moving out of the line of sight of the person he just saw on the street. He shoves a hand over Ponk’s mouth, muffling his protests. He pulls his hand away a second later, shooting him a disgusted look.

“Did you just lick me?” He hissed, keeping his voice low.

“Yes,” Ponk shouldn’t sound as proud of himself as he does.

Sam ignores him, poking his head around the corner, watching as the person makes their way down the street, wondering if his eyes are playing tricks on him.

He watches as the very familiar blonde teenager walks casually down the street, looking as though he has no care in the world despite walking down a street in a city he will be killed for entering. He knows that Tommy is confident within himself, but this seems a bit much for even him.

He watches with wide eyes as Fundy follows after him, running up to Tommy and putting an arm around his shoulder, striking up a conversation with him.

Sam watches in silence as they walk past his and Ponk’s hiding spot.

…

George watches Tubbo closely, both of them leaping across the rooftops with a familiar ease. Their instincts help them keep their balance, Tubbo able to climb up mountains with little to no difficulty and George having incredible balance.

The leap from roof to roof, darting between houses quickly, making their way steadily towards the centre.

George watches as Tubbo freezes mid-jump, staring down at the street below him. George leaps forward, grabbing Tubbo by the back of his shirt and yanking him back from the edge, pulling him away from where he had been dangerously teetering on the edge.

Tubbo doesn’t move, eyes fixed on the street below them. George follows his gaze, eyes landing on the two people walking below them, the only two they’ve seen in their whole time running through the city.

It’s obvious who they are, the fox tail and blonde hair giving it away. Tommy still wears his signature red and white t-shirt, the clothing familiar. George doesn’t understand it, Fundy is walking alongside one of the nation’s fugitives, laughing and cracking jokes with him.

He was sure that Fundy had been the one to laugh at Tubbo’s execution, finding a joke in Tubbo’s fear. He doesn’t understand, he knows that Schlatt exiled Tommy and Wilbur, yet he’s watching one of them stroll through his streets with his right-hand man.

He pushes Tubbo down against the rooftop when he sees Fundy begin to turn in their direction, face pointed upwards, looking towards their rooftop. Tommy follows where he’s looking, squinting up at the rooftop.

George’s heart thunders in his ears. He doesn’t know where to head to next, pulling them both along the rooftop, scarcely moving, worried they’ll be spotted and shot at if they realise who it is. Tubbo has been labelled as a traitor, he’s pretty sure he has as well, he’s not planning on risking it.

The move behind a chimney, straightening up. George watches, waiting for them to turn away. They stand, slightly bent over to remain out of sight. He watches as Tommy turns back to Fundy, saying something, distracting Fundy.

He leaps over to the next roof, Tubbo following behind him. George doesn’t pause, running straight over, ears strained to catch any sounds of shouting, any sign that they had been spotted. None follow, he jumps over to the next roof, grabbing Tubbo by the arms and pulling him up when he slips.

The sit for a second, several roofs over, trying to recover their breath, slow their hearts down from the small adrenaline rush.

George lets out a small laugh at the absurdity of their situation. Tubbo is running from his best friend, he’s running from the cabinet and country he helped create. It’s rather ridiculous.

He calms down slightly, reminding himself why they’re here. He stands slowly, offering a hand to Tubbo. 

They’re stood right beside the presidential building, the stone reaching high into the sky, the glass reflecting the sunlight into their eyes. George looks around the roof they’re stood on, looking for a way down.

He finds a drainpipe, beginning to slide down it, stopping halfway to make sure Tubbo is following. He is. They land in a back alley, a few metres from the building that resided in almost all of George’s nightmares.

He sighs and turns away from it, heading towards where he knows a door is built into the wall, Tubbo following behind him.

…

Dream appears below the podium, looking up to where Schlatt is sat, reclining on his throne. He hates the throne, it’s just too much, it makes it seem like Schlatt is too much higher above everyone, bringing him above all of his citizens.

He doesn’t think Wilbur would like it, the way the ram refuses to mingle with his citizens, disregarding them, turning to a bottle of alcohol instead.

He knows how cruel the man is, George had told him. He had been informed slowly, working his way through the story over a few months. Once the picture had been completed, the painting finished, he held nothing but hatred for the man, the man who declared himself emperor of the small nation.

He had become rather fond of the usual faces that were around here, namely Tommy, Tubbo and Wilbur. He doesn’t think he would consider them friends, just tentative allies. He had been sad to see them exiled, but he was unable to do anything about it. He had no power here, and that was what they had wanted. He didn’t intend to go against that.

“Schlatt,” he greets the man coolly, making eye contact with him through the mask. He begins to climb the stairs, bringing himself to the man’s level. Schlatt smirks at him from where he’s sat, draped over his throne, legs hanging off one arm, head resting on the other. An empty bottle lies at his feet.

Dream could kill him so easily, could take him out, there was no one else around, not even Fundy had shown up. He doesn’t.

“Dream,” Schlatt swings his legs from where they had been resting, setting them on the floor and standing. Even stood he’s shorter than Dream, having to crane his head upwards to look him in the eye.

He smiles once, “I presume you heard my message.”

“Hard not to,” he scoffs, folding his arms over his chest, looking down at him. He hopes the unimpressed aura he’s giving off is enough for Schlatt. The ram narrows his eyes at him, scanning him up and down.

“I can feel the disgust poring off of you, at least try and be polite,”

Dream sees a small orange blur dart past the stage, drawing his attention away from the president. He watches as Fundy runs down the street, making a sharp turn and disappearing from sight. Schlatt watches him go too.

“I see Fundy has decided to go do his job,”

“Which is?”

“Greetings.” Schlatt’s answer is short, normally he wouldn’t hesitate to brag about all the important jobs he has his cabinet doing. It’s slightly suspicious. 

“Who are you greeting? I don’t know of any movements between nations,”

“It’s not really a movement, more of a formality. They’ve been here a while already.”

Interesting. Dream doesn’t know of anyone who would choose to join Manburg, no one in their right mind at least.

He keeps Schlatt busy for a few more minutes. Pretending he doesn’t see the two people leaping onto a roof behind Schlatt’s head, watching as they disappear behind the building. It’s right beside the presidential building.

“Are we going to get to what I’m here for?” Schlatt narrows his eyes at him, turning slowly.

“Follow me,” he marches from the stage, leaving his bottle behind, not even bothering to pick it up. He follows behind Schlatt, slowly becoming more and more suspicious as he leads him down a small alley. 

It’s dirty and grey, the walls stained with some substance. He doesn’t know why they’re here, the presidential building just a few metres away from the entrance of the alley. He doubts Schlatt is drunk enough to forget where he was going.

He is proven right when they come upon a doorway. It hangs slightly open, the door swinging on its hinges.

“Could’ve sworn that I locked that up,” Schlatt doesn’t seem too bothered by that. Dream thinks he knows why. He allows himself a small smile, knowing his mask covers it.

He follows Schlatt down a small hallway. It’s poorly lit, a few torches lining the walls, their flames small and sputtering. He makes sure to avoid them, reluctant to catch his hoodie on fire, he’s rather fond of it.

The hallway come to end, opening out into a larger and better lit room. Glowstone and shroomlights hang from the ceiling, adorning the walls at random intervals. It’s sloppily made, the room’s edges rough, hewn out with a pickaxe ill-suited to the job, an inexperienced worker. He presumes Schlatt did it.

A small obsidian box sits in the middle of the room. The stone seems to suck any light out of the room surrounding it. The presence feels slightly threatening. He pulls his eyes away from it, scanning the rest of the room. There are a few crates conveniently stacked in a corner. He ignores the very obvious silhouettes of people hiding behind them, opting to distract Schlatt enough so he doesn’t spot them.

There is another tunnel leading away and up, the stairs steep. He can hear someone coming down them, their footsteps relatively light but echoing around and bouncing off the walls, clearly broadcasting someone’s approach.

Schlatt seems calm about it, watching the side tunnel with a bored expression, “That staircase connects to my office, allows for easier passage, less weird looking.”

“Why didn’t we use that one then,” Dream would have much rather gone through there rather than down the creepy alleyway.

“There’s someone in there that probably would not have liked that,” Dream assumes that person is the one coming down the stairs now.

Torchlight begins to shine from there, the source bobbing, obviously being carried by the person. A coat sweeps into view, the patches adorning it familiar to Dream. He feels his eyes widen as he watches the fox hybrid step down the last step, emerging into the room.

He can honestly say he didn’t expect to see Wilbur here, he had watched him get exiled from this country, watched him flee as they hunted him down.

He doesn’t understand the way Wilbur walks to Schlatt’s side, smiling at Dream as he passes by.

“I’m sure you’ve met my business partner,” Schlatt grins at him, condescending, “you lost a war to him after all.”

Dream would hardly call the independence war a war, it was something that he took too far, should have dropped as soon as it began to escalate. He was always going to give them their independence, he just wanted to make it more fun.

“We’ve met,” Dream grits out, “are we going to get to my job, I have other things to be attending to.”

“Of course we are,” Schlatt’s smile bothers him, it’s too wide, too fake, too much all at once. It feels like he’s being mocked.

He watches as Schlatt flicks a lever, dramatically gesturing towards the obsidian box. Dream doesn’t understand his dramatics, he finds it a bit too much.

He’s slightly horrified at what the lever does. He watches as one of the panels slides down, disappearing into the floor below it. The inside of the box has no light source, no torch, nothing. Quackity is slumped against one wall, head tilted back.

“Draw your weapon, Dream.” Schlatt sounds too smug, he draws his axe for show, holding it loosely at his side.

He looks worse for wear, no beanie, his face slightly bruised, dried blood running down his face from various places. His wings look odd, positioned at angles that can’t be comfortable. The braces are missing, he realises, the gold and bronze he had become used to Quackity wearing absent. He looks around the room once more, eyes drifting over to the darkest corner. He’s sure he can see them hung up there.

Quackity blinks his eyes open, looking towards Schlatt with a dead-eyed stare. His gaze slowly trails over Wilbur, no reaction visible, he doesn’t even seem surprised. His eyes settle on Dream, still completely empty. He seems unbothered, watching as Dream stands in front of him. He’s not going to kill him, but Quackity doesn’t know that, especially not with how he’s holding the axe.

“Come to kill me?” His voice is raspy, teeth slightly bloodstained as he smiles at Dream. It’s a sad smile, one of someone that’s given up. He takes a small step back.

The whole room jumps when two people jump out of the tunnel, landing beside Dream, their weapons drawn. He had honestly expected them to arrive sooner.


	18. Chapter 18

Quackity can’t say he’s surprised by Karl and Sapnap’s appearance, they’ve always had a dramatic flair, something they enjoyed. Their entrance is nothing short of that, bursting from the relative darkness of the tunnel into the light of the main room.

Each rough edge of the cave is familiar to him, he remembers digging it out, he remembers the way that Schlatt’s eyes had burned into his wings, stood a small distance behind him as he moved, painfully slowly carving out the room. 

He can remember the ache in his wings, the deep and numbing weight that seemed to hang from the tips of his feathers as he struck the iron pickaxe against the walls, again and again. He remembers finishing, he remembers turning back to Schlatt, watching as the man built the small obsidian box, stepping inside once before backing out.

He remembers the way Schlatt had gestured to it, and he had stepped inside, peering around, looking for whatever Schlatt had looked at. He remembers the way the obsidian had slid up behind him, trapping him in the small cage. 

He’s pretty sure he still has scars littered over his knuckles from where his skin had split beating against the rock. The way his throat had become raw, unable to speak for days after from how he screamed and begged to be let out.

He learnt how to behave when inside, how to escape quicker. It was ingrained in his mind, forcing his hand. He had sat in there for what felt like hours, not making a sound, barely flinching or responding when Schlatt paid him a small visit.

He hadn’t expected Dream to appear, axe in hand, enchantments shimmering over the sharpened blade. He hadn’t expected Sapnap and Karl to appear either. Sapnap’s hands are on fire, he notes, watching as the flames dance along his fingers, the tongues of fire reaching up his arms.

Karl is stood by his side, full decked out in netherite, the only item missing is his helmet, but that’s common among hybrids with extra appendages on their heads, it’s too uncomfortable for them. Karl looks pissed off, that’s the only way he can describe it, watching as he borderline growls at Schlatt, stepping in front of Dream, holding him back with the scythe he produces from seemingly nowhere.

He doesn’t think he’s seen Karl use a weapon like that before, he muses, watching as the dog hybrid raises it above his head, swiping it down with enough force to crack someone’s skull open, Wilbur barely dodging out of the way. The stone beneath where he had just been stood crack in two, the blade becoming temporarily embedded in it. Karl wrenches it free, pointing it towards Schlatt.

“Leave,” his voice is low, “or I’ll put this through your skull.” He swings the blade around to face Wilbur, “That goes for you too.” 

He watches them, his expression slightly scary, maintaining eye contact as they back away from the obsidian box. Schlatt flees first, turning tail and racing up the steps, leaving Wilbur behind him. Wilbur looks ill, gaunt and pale, his tail thin and raggedy, a sorry sight compared to what he had looked like during the first war, his short presidency.

Wilbur flees next, his tail flying out behind him as he flies, coat whipping behind him as he bounds up the steps, back up to the presidential building. He doesn’t think it should be called that, it’s more of a show of power, a way for Schlatt and Wilbur to show they were better. As much as they might argue they hate each other, they’re too similar, their ideal the same, just worded differently. 

Schlatt is truthful, that’s the only difference between them.

He jumps as the crates on the other side of the room clatter, falling to the floor and spilling items all over the floor. He can’t see the corner from where he’s sat, and he doesn’t think his legs would be able to support him if he tried to stand. He doesn’t bother, waiting for whoever was hidden to either come around or be chased out.

Tubbo rushes around the corner, only hesitating slightly before stepping into the obsidian box. He practically throws himself at Quackity, burying his face in his chest. He lets out a small exhale at the impact, shakily raising a hand and patting Tubbo on the head. 

George makes his way around the corner more slowly. His goggles are fixed over his eyes, but he can see the obvious discomfort from the way he holds himself, body tense, shoulders rigid.

He hears some doors bang open, the sound echoing down the hallway, followed by hurried footsteps. Sam emerges into the room, Ponk close behind him. The creeper hybrid is holding his trident at the ready, holding it up in front of his face. 

He lowers it slightly when he sees the people in the room, “Did we miss him?”

“Only just,” Karl still sounds pissed, turning towards Quackity. He’s still sat on the floor, Tubbo only just standing from where he had been hugging him. He extends a hand, allowing Quackity to grip it firmly before pulling him up.

He staggers as he stands, falling to the side, wings spreading slightly, protesting at the movement but trying to balance him. George grabs his shoulder, pulling him more upright, he smiles at him, a small, thankful smile. George returns it, moving Quackity’s weight off of him, passing him over to Sapnap.

The man has, thankfully, extinguished the flames that were licking over his palms, allowing him to safely hold Quackity up without running the risk of burning him. He allows himself to lean into the other, putting most of his weight onto him, knowing he can take it. Tubbo moves away from his other side, walking over to Sam. He speaks to him quietly, pointing to somewhere else in the room. Sam nods once, striding over to where Tubbo had pointed, the younger following behind.

Sapnap shifts slightly, sliding his arm further around Quackity, holding him tightly. The man lifts him with relative ease, picking him up and holding him against his chest. He will deny that he let out a small squeak at the sudden movement.

He rests his chin on Sapnap’s shoulder, slinging his arms around his neck, allowing him to hold his legs around his waist. It’s the easiest way to be held, his wings hanging down behind him instead of being trapped against someone’s arm or chest. He closes his eyes, feeling more tired than he had earlier, his chest beginning to ache more prominently, the dull throbbing becoming small sparks of pain.

He pushes it away, storing it in his ‘for later’ box. He doesn’t think he’s ever returned to that box, leaving it to collect dust in the furthest recesses of his mind.

…

Karl watches Quackity closely, looking for any signs of discomfort as they walk back to Sam’s base. Dream didn’t want to teleport them back, arguing that the magic is too volatile and that it would probably cause Quackity more harm than good.

This meant they were stuck walking back through Manburg, towards the portal so they can get back to Sam’s base.

Sapnap carries Quackity along, easily carrying the avian. Karl’s pretty sure he’s asleep or passed out. He hasn’t made a single sound the whole trip back, his eyes staying firmly shut.

“Do you think he’s asleep?” He’s mindful to keep his voice low, not wanting to wake him if he was.

“Probably,” Sapnap lets out a small breath, “he’s been muttering something in Spanish, no clue what it means.”

“He talks in his sleep?”

“He does!” Tubbo hops into their conversation, voice louder than both of them had been. Quackity doesn’t even stir.

“How would you know that?”

“We would have sleepovers sometimes, me, Quackity and George. Quackity would talk in his sleep, mostly nonsense.”

“Not all the time,” George falls into step behind them, apparently listening to their conversation.

“I thought we weren’t meant to talk about that,” Tubbo looks to George, ears lowering slightly as he watches the other.

“That was what Quackity said, besides, it was funny and he’s not awake right now.”

“What happened?” Karl was genuinely curious, wondering what the hesitance from Tubbo was about.

“Quackity was talking in his sleep, he does it most nights, it was a weird mix between Spanish and English, whole sentences being one language, then rapid switching between the two. We could never fully decipher what he was saying, I’m better at reading, and Tubbo only has a basic grasp on the language, mainly swear words from Quackity’s teaching.”

“Las drogas,” Tubbo states, a smile on his face, “Drugs.”

“He went on this whole thing about, I think it was seagulls? I wasn’t sure, I’m pretty sure it was, but it might have been something else. Anyway,” He almost trips on a loose cobble, stumbling a bit as he rights himself, “he was going on about seagulls, mostly in Spanish, but then he just stopped, and sat up in bed. He got up from the bed, bearing in mind it was like, midnight at this point. Me and Tubbo just watched as he walked across the room, opening the door.”

“We follow him, obviously.” Tubbo interjects.

“He walks down the stairs, and enters the small communal kitchen with have,” George laughs once, looking over to Tubbo, “he then, he pulls the fridge in there open, and apparently there was just a whole, uncooked, roast chicken in there. He pulls it out,” George laughs again, “he mutters ‘goddamn seagulls’ under his breath and chucks it out the window.”

George breaks off laughing, his quiet wheezing overshadowed by Tubbo’s loud laughs. Karl has to admit, it’s pretty funny, he can imagine Quackity doing it too.

“What happened after?”

“He just walked back up to bed and went back to sleep. The chicken was outside, and it was late, so we just left it, going back to bed. We told him in the morning, he didn’t find it as funny as us, swearing us to secrecy. Dunno why.” George shrugs.

“Because it’s not funny, that’s why,” Karl swivels his head around to face Quackity. The avian still looks asleep, eyes closed and face relaxed. He watches as he peeks one eye open, looking over to George.

“Don’t you remember what I said I’d do if you told anyone mi amigo?”

“Uh, no?”

“Just know, I have a very nice laser pointer, and some very special cat drugs. We all know how much you like that,” Quackity grins at George, his smile slightly tired and strained. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

George points a finger at him threateningly, “You promised no more catnip after the office incident.”

“Maybe I changed my mind,”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

Karl is incredibly confused, watching the back and forth, feeling as if he’s missing a part of the story, “What’s the office incident?”

“Something much more amusing than what Georgie just told you, I’ll tell you another time.”

Karl accepts that, walking up to stand beside Sam, the older is holding Quackity’s wing braces under his arm, watching as the nether portal swirls inside its obsidian frame. They walk through in pairs, walking over the dry and crumbling dirt, making their way towards the bridges.

They follow behind Sam, walking along the twisting and turning pathways that hover above the lava. They make a short journey out of it, walking quickly, eager to get back. Karl isn’t sure how injured Quackity is, but he would rather find out sooner than later.

They reach the portal, stepping through quickly, emerging just outside Sam’s house in the hill. Karl can firmly say that his house is one of the nicest ones he’s been inside. It just has a cosy feeling for such a large space.

Sam flicks the lever, granting them access. He hears a pattering of paws and claws across the floors, heading straight towards them. Fran bounds around the corner first, colliding with Sam head on, jumping up to greet her owner. Sam bends down to her level, ruffling the fur on her head, petting her right between the ears, right where every dog likes it.

A few seconds later the being making the small, scratchy sound of claws comes around the corner, weaving around Sapnap’s legs as he steps inside. Kiwi begins to climb his trouser leg, making her way up towards Sapnap’s face quickly. She steps over Quackity, using his head as a perch. Karl watches as she trills in his ear, rubbing her small, scaled head along the side of his face.

“Heya Kiwi,” Sapnap greets, turning his head slightly and brushing his face against hers. He can’t exactly stroke her, his hands slightly occupied with a probably injured avian.

Sam stands from where he’s crouched, George moving past him, Tubbo and Dream following close behind.

“Tubbo, just wait a second, don’t think I didn’t miss the way your head is bleeding.” Sam turns back towards them, “You wanna head down to my medical room? I’ll be there in a second,” he turns to head away, “Oh, and Karl? Could you take these down with you?” He hands the wing braces over.

He heads off, leaving Karl, Sapnap and Quackity in the entryway. Tubbo has already pushed the workshop door open, heading in. They follow behind him, walking carefully down the stairs, neither wanting to drop what they’re carrying.

Tubbo is sat up on one of the tables, swinging his legs idly, looking around the room. Sapnap places Quackity down next to him, allowing him to sit up, leaning slightly against Tubbo for stability.

“How did you hurt your head?” Quackity asks, “I swear you rams are meant to have really fucking thick skulls.”

“Not yet, only when our horns have pretty much finished growing, it would just make it more painful for us otherwise.”

“Oh,” Quackity falls silent after that, wings draped behind him, waiting for Sam to arrive. Karl puts the braces down on a nearby table, setting them down carefully.

Sam doesn’t take long, entering his basement within a minute. He checks Tubbo over first, looking at the back of his head, parting his hair to get a better look at the wound.

“It’s nothing serious, a regen pot should heal it up, second cabinet on the left, third shelf up, they’re all labelled.” He points over to the wall lined with cupboards. Tubbo hops from the table, walking over to where Sam indicated, looking through the shelves for a second before grabbing a bottle. He drinks it quickly, swallowing the potion down with no more than a small grimace.

Karl watches closely as Sam checks Quackity over. He checks his wings over first, finding a few bleeding patches, the feathers missing from them. They seem otherwise unharmed, no broken bones, just a few missing feathers.

Sam smears a pink ointment over them, watching as the skin begins to heal over, wiping the blood away once its done working. Karl assumes it’s some kind of regen infused cream.

Sam checks his arms next, pulling the sleeves of the very familiar hoodie up. Karl’s slightly surprised he didn’t notice earlier, the white hoodie standing out on Quackity’s small form. It basically swamps him, way too big for him, collar hanging low and the hem way over his legs. He glances to Sapnap, knowing that it was his hoodie.

He only has a few cuts littering his hands, the ones you normally get when dealing with obsidian. The shards stick out and they slice your skin at the slightest of contact. He doesn’t really know how long Quackity had been in that small box, but it was at least five hours, if not longer. Quackity had left Sam’s base at around six according to Sam, and Tubbo had only arrived back at midday. Taking the time of travel into account, it was a while.

Sam dabs more ointment onto these cuts, watching as they heal over.

“I’m going to pull your shirt up now, okay?” Quackity nods at Sam’s words, wordlessly giving permission.

Karl winces when his chest it revealed, feeling the pain of the bruises littered across. Most of his chest is covered in a dark, mottled blue colour. It’s shaped like the underneath of someone’s boot. Karl is beginning to regret letting Schlatt leave alive, watching as Quackity winces.

Sam touches one of his hands against the skin carefully, beginning to prod at Quackity’s ribs, which are way too visible to be healthy, the higher ones jutting from his skin slightly, revealing the outlines. Sam pulls back as he pokes at one.

“That one’s fractured, I’m pretty sure, meaning I won’t be able to use a regen on it. You’ll have to let it heal naturally.” Quackity nods again, watching as Sam grabs a roll of bandages, beginning to wrap it around his torso, going around his wings where necessary.

“Any pain anywhere else?”

Quackity shakes his head no.

“Okay, I’m just going to put your wing braces back on, then you’re free to go.”

Sam makes quick work of the wing braces, pulling the hoodie up at the back to allow him access to his wings. He spreads the wing, fastening the metal on quickly, allowing Quackity to fold them back against his back before dropping the fabric back down.

“You’re free to go, I recommend bedrest, I’ll come and check on you tomorrow.” Sam turns and leaves, heading back up the stairs, into the rest of the base. Tubbo hovers beside Karl, watching as Sapnap pulls Quackity up from the table, picking him up when he asks.

Karl thinks it’s rather sweet, the way Quackity holds onto Sapnap like a koala. The only one that doesn’t seem to like it is Kiwi, the small dragon looking rather disgruntled at having to share Sapnap’s attention with someone else.

They head up the stairs, walking back to Quackity’s room. Tubbo leaves them at the door, pausing for a moment to fix them both with a stare, slowly handing him Quackity’s beanie, pressing it into his hands. Karl gets the threat. He has no clue what the relationship between them is, but they seem to care for each other a lot.

Karl steps into the room behind Sapnap, closing the door for him. Kiwi takes off from his shoulder, gliding through the air, landing on a shelf. She seems content to curl up there, resting in a sunbeam. Sapnap walks over to the bed, pulling his shoes off before stepping in. Karl pulls his own shoes off, climbing in after Sapnap.

Sapnap pulls Quackity’s shoes off as well, dumping them over the side of the bed, lying down, Quackity still pressed against his chest. He seems content to remain there, Karl lying down on his other side.

He pulls the hat over the other’s head, knowing that the item brings him some kind of comfort. He seems grateful, closing his eyes and trilling slightly. He presses his face into Sapnap’s chest, spreading one wing over him. Karl snuggles up behind him, making sure to not put any pressure onto his wing.

He closes his eyes, the adrenaline finally wearing off, leaving him feeling incredibly tired. He’ll hunt Schlatt down later, he decides.


	19. Chapter 19

Quackity sits in the dark. He’s leant back against the wall. He can feel the shards digging into his back, pressing against his wings.

He closes his eyes, allowing the colours to swirl over his eyes, forming patterns where nothing exists, creating something out of nothing. The nebulas of light burst across his vision, the sparks scattering and landing as stars. He watches the light show, pushing away the similarities to fireworks. There were no loud noises, no death, no screaming, no blood. No Technoblade.

He shudders, pulling away from the feeling of cold metal against his lip, the blade slicing down his face, cutting through the flesh there as if it were butter. He can still feel it now, the way it had cut through, tearing a ragged hole into his face, striking through his eye, blinding him. Damaging him irreparably.

He doesn’t want revenge though. Revenge twists you, changes you into a shadow of your former self, your being twisted and distorted, stretching beyond what others expect of you, reaching places meant to be unreachable. He wonders if Schlatt had always been the shell of a person he is now, the one that relies on alcohol and cigarettes to keep him going. He thinks the alcohol reached deep inside him, burning his throat and hollowing him out, leaving him a husk. He shudders again, looking down to the floor.

His musings never too him anywhere good.

His wings spasm behind him, the muscles tensing up before releasing, his shoulders twitching as the feathers ruffle. He ignores the small coil of anxiety in his stomach, brushing off the way it tightens around his organs, like a snake constricting its prey. He’s not falling prey to anything, least of all an alcoholic dictator.

His wings twitch again, his whole body shuddering as a shiver ripples down his spine, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and causing his feathers to puff up. He shakes himself a bit, brushing away the lingering traces of coldness that had remained after his small shiver. He knows they’re anxiety related, but they don’t happen enough to be too much of a bother. The obsidian just removes any hope he has, extinguishes any light sources, stopping him from finding his way.

He freezes as the obsidian grates against itself, the stone grinding over itself with a horrible noise. He cowers away from it, ducking his head slightly and raising his arms. He closes his eyes firmly as the light pools in, blinding him with how bright it is, vastly different to the overwhelming darkness of his cage.

Schlatt is steps in front of the opening, blocking his escape. He wasn’t going to try anyway; he knows it’s hopeless. Schlatt would catch him before he got two metres. He watches as Schlatt peers in, turning his head slightly, not wanting to let Schlatt get on his left, unwilling to let him sneak up on him that way.

He can’t stop Schlatt as he reaches towards him, hand gripping his chin tightly, so painfully different to the soft touches he had received from Sapnap and Karl the night before. He allows Schlatt to yank his head around, watching him, both eyes open. Schlatt’s eyes trail down his face, looking over the left side.

He flinches back when he brings another hand up, going to trace a blackened finger down his scar. Schlatt doesn’t let him pull away, fixing him with a look, gripping his jaw tighter, threatening to dislocate it, break it even. He probably could, his bones break so easily, the insides hollow to allow for flight.

He shivers as he feels Schlatt’s finger on his face, suppressing the urge to pull away, the overwhelming feeling of wrong, of disgust, the wrongwrongwrong.

Schlatt pulls away, tutting, “They haven’t taken very good care of you, Duckling. Your face looks disgusting now, look at it.” Schlatt gestures to his face, brining his hand up and down, tracing along the path his scar carves, cutting through his eye and lip as it travels.

He doesn’t show any emotion on his face, the scar on his shoulder a reminder of why not to do that. He stares at Schlatt, his face impassive, eye tracking his small, subtle movements, the way he sways slightly from side to side. He’s drunk.

“They ruined you birdie. I let you out of your cage for one minute, and you’re gone, you’re damaged,” he steps closer, entering the obsidian box fully, crowding into Quackity’s space, “Can’t you see why I kept you? It kept you safe, I protected you, can’t you see that?” Schlatt is borderline pleading with him. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he ignores the small feeling of doubt, the niggling feeling that Schlatt does care, that he has all along, that it was only done for his own good. He ignores it, pushing it down, smothering it, pretending he doesn’t hear it. He does.

He levels Schlatt with a glare, hoping that the overwhelming hate he feels for him is obvious in his stare. Schlatt pulls back from him, a frown tugging at his lips.

“I thought you could’ve met my guest today, seems your time free has made you forget the rules. Don’t forget, Quackity, I know how to clip your wings, in more way than one.”

Schlatt brings his foot up, heavy boot heading straight towards his chest. There’s no way for him to move, nowhere for him to escape to. He can only scrabble at the obsidian, hoping that he can stand up before the hit connects.

He doesn’t, the boot going straight into his stomach, connecting with such a force that his head slams back against the wall, a sickening crunch coming from his chest.

His head stings, his already limited vision rapidly disappearing. He struggles to keep his head above the surface, flailing about slightly. 

…

He gasps slightly, eyes flying open, coming face to face with a sea of red. His heart flutters in his chest, beating against his ribcage like a bird demanding to be free. The irony is not lost on Quackity. He can feel two people pressed up on either side of him, their arms resting over him, grounding him where he is. He exhales shakily, breathing out slowly as he closes his eyes again, willing himself to calm down slightly, to steady himself before he woke someone.

“Quackity?” Too late, Sapnap’s tired voice, slightly slurred, comes from above him, vibrating from his chest. Quackity feels the vibrations pass through his head, his ear pressed close to the other’s chest, face pressed into the jumper he’s wearing. It’s red, he realises, instead of his usual white. He realises why then, looking down to himself, the hoodie he’s wearing looking like Sapnap’s normal one. He had almost forgotten he was wearing it. He really hopes he didn’t get blood on it.

“Quackity?” He feels Sapnap shift slightly beside him, bringing his arms tighter around him. He feels his head brush against Quackity’s, the blunted ends of his horns brushing against where his beanie rests on his head.

Sapnap shuffles down the bed, bringing him down to Quackity’s level. They look at each other for a second, watching the other’s face for any sign of movement. Quackity is infinitely grateful for his placement then, the left side of his face pressed into his bed, hiding the ugly marring of his face from view. He presses into it slightly more, pulling his beanie down further over his head.

He had never really noticed how nice Sapnap’s eyes were before, only ever noticing them during battle, the way they would glow a deep orange, flaring into a red when he summons his flames. They’re dark now, the same colour of coals, small glimmers of yellow and light orange passing over them, revealing the fire hidden just underneath the surface.

He’s warm, but not overwhelmingly so. It’s a nice warmth, like the one you would get from sitting in front of a fire on a rainy afternoon, huddling close to the flames as your share secrets with your friends and drink warm drinks. He shuffles slightly closer, tucking his wing further around him, wrapping him safely in the small cocoon.

He closes his eyes, just basking in the warmth as they lay in silence. He feels Sapnap press his head against his, pressing them together for a moment. He knows that it’s a sign of love, platonic or romantic. He’s seen Bad do it to Skeppy and his friends before. He knows it’s a common thing to do among horned hybrids, a show of trust for each other, displaying how easily they could be hurt, but using it just for affection.

He presses his head against his slightly, not being a horned hybrid himself, but respecting and returning the show of affection he received. Sapnap lets out a small huff, his breath ghosting over Quackity’s face. It’s warm and oddly sweet, slightly smoky, like the smell you get from outdoor cooking, the smell that can only be achieved from cooking around a fire with your friends, the warmth washing over you as the sun sets.

He feels a hand brush over his jaw, palms soft and warm. He feels a pair of lips press against his for a moment, a soft exchange. He kisses back just as softly, feeling a strange contentment well up inside him at the affection.

He opens his eyes again, raising his hand towards Sapnap’s head. He tugs once at the bandanna, a small ask for permission. Sapnap gives it, tipping his head forward and allowing Quackity to untie it. He pulls the small strip of fabric away from his forehead, gathering it into a small bundle. He pulls Sapnap’s hand away from where it’s resting against his jaw, pressing the garment into his hand, curling his fingers around it.

He brings his hand up, reaching towards Sapnap’s hair. His brain demands for him to preen the other, to detangle their wings. He knows Sapnap doesn’t have wings, so he settles for the next best thing, running his fingers through the long strands of hair, teasing them apart, detangling them in a way similar to how he preens his wings, returning the show of affection in his own way. It’s how he was taught to show love, his parents and siblings helping each other with their wings when he was younger. He still remembers the last time he preened their wings, their bodies cold to the touch as he prepared them, hands rough and split from the graves he had dug.

He presses his eyes shut, pushing that away. His hands freeze in the midst of detangling a mass of hair, pausing for a moment before continuing. He honestly doesn’t know how Sapnap hasn’t done this yet, surely he owns a hairbrush.

He feels Karl’s weight shift slightly behind him, a presence hovering above him. He looks over to the side, keeping his face where it is, looking up to see Karl hanging over him, watching him as he brushes his fingers through Sapnap’s hair.

He looks half-asleep still, eyes bleary and barely staying open, blinking rapidly in an attempt to remain awake. His ears are perked forward, falling over his face slightly. They were the only thing that showed he was aware, displaying his interest in what was happening.

He looked between Quackity and Sapnap, eyes darting back and forth, slowly beginning to look more and more awake. He smiled at them, a small and soft thing, something he doesn’t think he’s ever seen on Karl before. He’s seen the large grins that take up half his face, and the way he covers his face with his sleeves when he gets embarrassed, grinning under his sweater paws. This smile is small though, edging on timid as he gazes down at them.

Quackity shuffles back a bit, adjusting his wing as he does so. He brings the one that covers Sapnap back, opening the invite for Karl. He doesn’t hesitate, clambering carefully over Quackity, making sure not to put any weight on him, which he’s glad for, he doesn’t think his ribs could take it. He allows Karl to settle down before tucking his wing back over them, pulling the other close to his back.

He presses a soft kiss to Karl’s lips, having to shuffle up a bit to close the gap between them. He pulls away after a few seconds, bringing a hand up to the top of Karl’s head, pressing down on his hair before stroking it a bit. He brushes his fingers through Karl’s hair, pausing every now and again to rub slightly at the base of his ears, right where he knows most dogs like it, Karl seemingly included in this.

He pauses slightly when he hears a comms device go off, checking his own to make sure it wasn’t him. It’s not Karl’s either, meaning it was Sapnap’s. He watches as he pulls his comms out, bringing the screen up.

He watches as Sapnap reads through the message, eyes widening before he blushes red.

“What?” Quackity laughs slightly at the obvious embarrassment, “What is it?”

Sapnap sighs, “You know how Bad and Skeppy are my dads?”

“Yeah?”

“Well Bad has this like, sixth sense or something, because he can always sense when me or Skeppy are doing something, not necessarily bad things, just something telling him to check on us. And he just sent me a message saying that he wants to know where I am, for his sake.”

“Just tell him then? It’s not like he’s going to tell you off for it,” Quackity didn’t understand Sapnap’s hesitance.

“Yeah, but if I tell him, he’ll bring Skeppy, because they’re all friends with Sam, and Skeppy’s embarrassing.”

“He’ll be fine, he can’t be that bad. Plus, Bad will be there.” Quackity reasoned. Sapnap seemed to accept this, tapping out a message to his dad. He gets a response a few seconds later.

“He says he’s coming over in an hour, he expects me to be awake.”

“I guess we should get up then,” None of them got up.


	20. Chapter 20

Quackity decided to get up first. His wings itched slightly, and he wanted to look presentable if he was going to meet Bad. Officially that is. He’s not going to be able to make a first impression on him, he messed up his first one with him. He snickers slightly at the thought of their conversation. He doesn’t know that Bad knew Spanish, he thought he was being smart, swearing in that language.

He pulled his wing from Sapnap and Karl, leaving them without a blanket as he gets up. He ignores their complaints, pushing himself from the mattress. He walks over to his wardrobe door, pulling it open and peering inside. He pulls out the first pair of jeans he sees, tossing the black material over the back of a nearby chair.

He looks between the soft pastel yellow sweater and the dark purple and black one. He chooses the black and purple, pulling the white one back over his head and tossing it in Sapnap’s direction, not bothering to pick it up when it just falls to the floor. He changes the shirt he’s wearing underneath quickly, pulling on a fresh one. He slips his wings through the holes at the back, pulling the sweater over his head and doing the same.

He pulls the jeans on quickly, fixing his beanie as he turns back around, tucking his hair back underneath the fabric. He pulls a pair of black fluffy socks on, they’re soft against his feet. He wonders where Sam gets the clothes from, they’re incredibly nice.

He turns back towards Sapnap and Karl, ignoring the small, uncomfortable, feeling that twitches inside him as he lets them see the horrific scarring. They already know it’s there. He smiles at Kiwi as she pokes here head up from the small nest she’s made on his shelf. He’s pretty sure he can see some of his valuables tucked in there, but he’ll leave it be for now.

They’ve both gone back to sleep, curling into the other’s embrace. As sweet as it is, they need to get up, Bad and Skeppy would be arriving in less than half an hour. He walks closer, footsteps soft, socks muffling his approach. He walks up behind them, neither seeing him, Karl’s back is facing him and Sapnap’s eyes are closed.

He brings his hands down quickly on Karl’s shoulders, making the other jump, twisting around to face him and falling off the bed, bringing several duvets down with him as he crashes through one of the walls he’s built up around the edge.

Quackity just stands there, looking down at Karl. He hadn’t expected that much of a reaction, not sure what to do now. He pulls a duvet off Karl, piling it on the floor beside him. He offers a small grin, extending his hand in an offer. Karl doesn’t even glare at him, just accepting the hand and allowing Quackity to pull him up. His arms protest slightly at that, ribs creaking a bit, reminding him that he probably shouldn’t be doing that.

He releases Karl’s hand once he’s steady, pulling the duvets from the floor, beginning to rearrange them again, stacking them back into the formation. Sapnap is sitting up now, beginning to get up, apparently unwilling to receive the same treatment as Karl.

Karl is looking through a small bag, pulling various items of clothing from it, Sapnap gets up and begins to do the same. He’s certain they’re up now, so he can do other things. Sam knocks on the door just as he thinks this, poking his head in, looking to Quackity and beckoning him over.

“Good morning,” Sam greets, Fran is stood just behind his legs, “just came to check up on you. Any pain? Any sharp pains or anything like that?”

His concern is obvious, “I’m fine, it obviously isn’t that serious, and there’s no pain.” He reassures Sam, noting the way his shoulders seem to lower minutely, relaxing the slightest. Fran pushes her way past Sam, sniffing at Quackity’s knees.

He bends down to greet her, ruffling the fur on the top of her head. She grins up at him, pink tongue lolling out of her mouth, a bit of spit dripping off the end. It’s slightly disgusting, but he pets her politely anyway.

She brushes past him after a moment, headed towards where Sapnap and Karl are. She rubs up against Karl, almost knocking him over with her weight, she’s a big dog.

He turns back to Sam, “I assume Bad sent you a message?”

“He did, I’ll only be here for a bit, I have other business to attend to outside of the house.” It seems serious if the way Sam’s face hardens slightly at those words is any indicator.

“Okay.” He stands from his crouched position, shuffling past Sam and out of the room. He walks past George’s room, down towards the guest room beyond it. He knocks on the door, poking his head inside when Tubbo responds.

He’s already up, his curtains open and sunlight beginning to stream in through the glass panes. He turns towards Quackity when he enters, patting the made bed he’s sat on, gesturing for him to sit down. He closes the door behind him, walking over and sitting down beside him.

“I heard Bad’s coming over,”

“Yes, he invited himself and Skeppy.”

“Why?”

“He’s coming to check on Sapnap,” Tubbo smiles at that, turning towards him.

“What,” his tone is teasing, “come to check on Sapnap, make sure his boyfriends are treating him right?” He leans towards Quackity a bit, grin widening as he finishes his sentence.

Quackity’s cheeks redden, his face heating up slightly. Tubbo isn’t exactly wrong, he’s too smart for his own good sometimes, observing rather than speaking, collecting small pieces of information he can use later. He’s not exactly wrong either, there’s obviously something going on between them, they just haven’t put any kind of label on it yet.

“Yes, yes, sure, whatever,” He huffs, turning around so his back is facing Tubbo, “Could you do my wings for me? They’re itchy and messed up, don’t want to give Bad a bad impression.”

“Yeah, how do you take the braces off though? It covers most of your outer wings,” He feels Tubbo run his hand along the top part of the brace, the leather pressing down slightly more with the pressure he pushes on it.

“There’s small latches, if you unhook those, starting at the end of my wings they should come off easily.” He spreads his wings to make it easier for him to do it, slowly feeling as it comes off, the pressure increasing then falling away completely as he unlatches the contraption. It doesn’t take more than five minutes to get both off, leaving his feathers bare.

Tubbo makes quick work of straightening out the secondaries, moving quickly from feather to feather, brushing away the dust before moving onto the primaries. He makes quick work of the large wings, practice making his fingers nimble as he brushes them down, stroking over the wing once before repeating the process on the other. Quackity has been grooming the underside of the opposite wing, using the time to do what he can do. He finishes a minute or so before Tubbo does, waiting for him to swap wings until he does.

He begins to reattach the brace on his right wing as Tubbo finishes up his left, taking the minutes he has to do that. Bad is probably almost here at this point, meaning he should probably get back to the other two, try and get something to eat before.

He reattaches the brace to his left wing once Tubbo is done, quicker at doing it with more practice than the younger. He stands from the bed, turning around to help Tubbo up. He spots three feathers on the bed, from his own wings. He picks them up, slipping one under his hat, the tip just barely peeking out among his hair.

Tubbo stops him just before he walks out the door, hugging him tightly, “I’m happy for you,”

“What do you mean?” Quackity has no clue what the fuck that is meant to mean.

“For you finding Sapnap and Karl,”

“They’ve been my friends for like, five years?”

Tubbo huffs, “For finding them as more than friends you idiot.” He releases his hold on Quackity, stepping away and out the door for the bedroom, calling to Sapnap and Karl as he disappears around the corner. Quackity stands there for a moment longer, thinking of how great Tubbo is. Shame he’s got such a shitty dad. He’s sure he can find a way to resolve that, he’s got a degree in law after all. It shouldn’t be too hard.

He heads back down the hallway, following after Tubbo’s voice. He holds the remaining two feathers in his hand, rounding the corner into the lounge. Tubbo is sat at the table with Sapnap and Karl, the three of them the only others in the room. 

He walks up behind Sapnap, tucking one of the yellow feathers into his headband, making sure it’s secure before handing the other to Karl. He turns away, grabbing himself a bowl and some cereal from the cabinet.

He pours the cereal and adds a bit of milk, sitting down at the table and beginning to eat. He looks up when the silence that has fallen over the kitchen persists. Tubbo seems unbothered, eating a bowl of cereal like Quackity, both Sapnap and Karl as just looking at him. 

Karl is holding the small feather he gave him, one of his smaller primaries to be exact, but he’s just staring at him, holding it gently in his palm.

“Wh’t?” He speaks through a mouthful of food, the cereal muffling his words slightly.

“This is a feather,” Karl holds the feather up.

“Yes?” I have lots of them on my wings, I’m sure you’ve seen one before.” He eats another mouthful of cereal.

“This is one of your feathers,”

“Yes,”

He’s not entirely sure where the confusion is coming from, it’s a feather, one of his. That much should be obvious by the bright yellow colouration. He’s pretty sure no other birds in the area have those kinds of feathers.

“You gave one to me and Sapnap.”

“Yes? I don’t get what’s so confusing about this,”

“Just, why?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that, he just gives them to people he likes. Tubbo laughs, looking up from his cereal, “He just does it. Me and George have one of his secondaries each,”

“When did I give you those?”

Tubbo hums, obviously thinking, “I think you’d just come back from the underground for the first time, you were pretty out of it, feathers were falling all over the floor and we were panicking. You just said you were fine and grabbed some of the loose feathers, you gave us one each. It would have been funny if you didn’t pass out a few seconds later.”

Quackity can now see why he doesn’t remember it. His next words are interrupted by a loud noise, the sound of stone grating over stone; the front door sliding open. Sapnap stands from the table quickly, walking out of the kitchen and towards the front door. They all follow him, walking a bit behind.

Quackity can hear Sam talking with someone else, two voices responding as they move down the hall.

Sam rounds the corner, Skeppy and Bad walking beside him, making their way slowly down the corridor. Their small group stops, letting the older three approach them. Bad brings Sapnap into a hug, pulling him in closely.

Quackity had honestly forgotten how tall Bad was in comparison to him. Sapnap was only an inch or so taller than him, but Bad still had at least a foot on him, towering above him slightly. He has to duck a bit to avoid his horns scraping along the top of the ceiling.

Skeppy is short in comparison to his husband, a bit shorter than Sapnap. He’s wearing his usual mask, the blue fabric pulled up over his face, covering the lower half. Skeppy waits for Bad to stop hugging Sapnap before he brings him into a hug, stretching to mess his hair up as he does so.

Sapnap ducks away from him, wriggling out of his hold and turning a glare on him., “Every fucking time, we can’t have a single nice greeting.”

“Language,” Bad reminds Sapnap, no real heat behind his words. Sapnap turns his head and grins at him and Karl, Bad following his gaze. Quackity turns his head to the side, concealing the left side of his face from view, looking towards Karl.

“Do you want to go sit down? I can get tea?” Sam offers, gesturing down the hallway, obviously feeling the slight awkward tension in the air. Bad nods slowly, Skeppy making a face at the mention of tea.

Sam leads the way back to the lounge, entering the small kitchen to begin making drinks like he had promised. They settle themselves on the sofas arranged in a semi-circle. Quackity sits down between Tubbo and Karl, Bad and Skeppy sitting on the sofa diagonal to theirs. Sapnap looks between the two groups before making his way over to Karl, sitting down next to him.

George enters the room then, making a beeline for the coffee machine, blanket still tucked around his shoulders and walking straight past Bad and Skeppy, probably not even noticing them. He pulls his favourite mug down from the shelf, watching as the coffee machine begins to work its magic. He doesn’t even wait for it to cool, drinking the whole mug before preparing another.

Dream walks in too, sending a small greeting to Skeppy and Bad, walking over to George and pulling him away from the coffee machine, snagging his coffee cup and carrying it for him. Sam walks over with the drinks, handing Bad and Skeppy a mug each.

Dream drags George over to the sofa, sitting him down on the only unoccupied one. He pulls George down next to him, taking a sip from George’s mug as he tucks George against his side, making sure the blanket is secure around his shoulders before handing him his coffee mug.

“I’m going to have to be heading out now,” Sam announces, looking to Bad apologetically, “I have the business that I discussed with you to deal with.”

Quackity still doesn’t know what this ‘business’ is, but Bad seems to, “Good luck, see you later.”

Sam leaves, Fran following behind him. Bad turns back to Quackity, fixing him with a look. His eyes soften slightly as he looks over the left side of his face. Quackity doesn’t want his pity, and he can feel his wings ruffling up behind him, the feathers puffing up, displaying the obvious annoyance.

“What happened to your face?” He sounds overwhelmingly concerned, which just annoys Quackity more. He knows he’s meant to be appeasing Bad, soothing his worries for Sapnap.

“You were at the festival, weren’t you?”

“Techno did that?” Skeppy sounds surprised, looking over the scar with a new fascination, “I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Well,” Quackity scoffs, “here’s your proof that he does.”

“Hey Sapnap,” Quackity turns to look at Dream, “Can I speak with you for a second? Outside this room?” Quackity does not miss the small, grateful look Bad sends Dream. Sapnap stands from the sofa, following behind Dream as he leaves the room.

George lies down on the sofa, tucking his feet up and just going back to sleep. How he does that with two cups of black coffee running through his veins, Quackity will never know.

“Okay,” Quackity looks to Bad, “I think you can guess what is coming. This isn’t aimed at you Tubbo, by the way, just Karl and Quackity.”

“Basically you hurt Sapnap and we fuck you up,” Skeppy butted in, looking between the two of them.

“Language,” Bad sighs, “but basically yes. I can see that something bad happened to you,” he gestures to the whole of Quackity, which is slightly offensive, but he understands why, “And I’m not going to ask what it was, but just know I can hurt you more than physical wounds ever will if you hurt Sapnap.”

The kind smile on his face is rather different to the threat he just gave him and Karl. He’s slightly shocked, he didn’t know Bad could be so forward, he always seemed like he dodged around things. He takes that back now.

“We’re not going to do anything,” Karl reassures, “we care for Sapnap as much as you do.” Quackity nods along quickly, agreeing with him. 

He does not want to get on the other side of Bad’s sword.

“I’m glad we could come to an agreement,” Bad sits back, leaning against the sofa cushions, “So, how do you like Kiwi?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content!  
> small panic attack near the end  
> starts at "his face contorts into a sneer"  
> ends at the end of quackity pov  
> stay safe!

Sam stepped through the nether portal, striding away from the frame quickly, Fran following his heels closely. He walks confidently, citizens moving out of his way as he strode through the streets, trident gripped tightly in his hand.

He heard someone running behind him, twisting around at the last second, pointing his trident towards them. They stop shirt, the point resting just below their chin. They raise their hands slowly.

“Fundy,” He hisses, eyes narrowing. Even after he’s finished speaking a low hissing continues to whisper from him. A few of the watching people begin to back away, wary of the creeper’s signature sound. Fundy’s eyes widen a fraction, beginning to look slightly more panicked, unable to escape the area fast enough without dying.

He jabs the trident closer to him, feeling it poke against the fox’s skin slightly. He sees him recoil, feeling a small bit of satisfaction at the obvious fear.

“I’m sure we can resolve this peacefully,” Fundy begins, lowering his hands as he tries to take a step backwards. Sam follows after him, keeping the trident close to his throat, the threat was obvious.

“Now, I don’t like to assume things, but this doesn’t look good on you, big man.” Sam grits his teeth, turning his head to face the blonde teenager. He keeps the trident pointed at Fundy, jabbing it forward when he tries to back away again.

“Neither does trapping someone in an obsidian box and requesting someone to kill him,” He doesn’t have much patience for this. Tommy looks unbothered, shrugging once and looking to Fundy. Sam watches closely, noting the small spark in his eyes, the slightly manic glimmer, the way his lips tug upwards, trying to form into a smile before he forces it back down.

“Do you have no remorse,” he spits, the streets around them are empty now, the smell of sulphur slowly covering the whole area.

“Why would I need remorse,” Tommy grins at him, his eyes gleaming brighter, one of his ears twitches slightly, “there’s nothing to regret.”

Sam turns on Tommy then, jabbing the trident towards him. Tommy sidesteps it, grabbing the handle and twisting it from his hands. He grins down at the metal before looking back up to Sam. He sets it down, leaning against it as he watches Sam. Fran barks at Fundy, growling at keeping him back whilst he deals with Tommy. He hears her snapping her teeth, the distinct clacking sound of teeth against teeth as her jaw shuts with a snap.

He’s just being irritating now, his grin infuriating with the way it curls. He summons his shield, bringing it up to block Fundy’s attack. He shoves back, causing him to stumble back, giving him a few seconds to pull out his sword, slashing it towards the fox when he charges towards him.

Tommy tries to throw the trident at him, but he’s obviously inexperienced with the weapon, it clatters uselessly to the floor as soon as he releases it. He snatches it back up, striking it so hard against the shield, so much so that it begins to splinter, the tips poking through the other side as he shoves it harder.

Sam pulls his shield upwards, using the few inches he had on Tommy to pull it away from the raccoon, yanking the trident from the wood. They’re at a standstill, Tommy with no weapons, Fundy being held at the end of his sword.

An arrow lands beside his foot, almost making him jump, almost. He watches as a small flame on the tip of it fizzles out; an explosive arrow, one designed specifically to make creepers explode. It’s a dirty move.

He follows the trajectory of the arrow, looking up to the nearest building. Wilbur is stood on the top, staring down at him. He jumps, little regard for his own safety, rolling as he hits the floor, straightening up as if he didn’t just fall several stories.

His boots look enchanted, a slight purple washing over them. Most likely feather falling. Wilbur draws his bow again, lighting an arrow, pointing it straight at Sam’s chest. His eyes have the same look Tommy’s do, a manic glint, a crazed look to them. He knew being in exile from your own country couldn’t be fun, but he didn’t think it would be that bad for them.

“I suggest you leave now, wouldn’t want to set anything off with a small explosion, would we?” Sam doesn’t know what that means, but he gets the threat, lowering his shield slightly. He walks as calmly as he can, away from the three people. He can feel their gazes on his back. They seem to bore a hole into him, making him feel pressure that isn’t there.

Fran walks beside him, her fur slightly ruffled, ears flat against her head as she looks around, looking for any potential dangers.

They make it out of the main area of Manburg before she warns him of someone approaching. He stops where he’s stood, scanning the area around him. Fran is staring into one of the alleyways, her eyes trained on something hidden in the shadows. He can’t quite make out what it is, his eyesight is better suited for night time anyway.

He takes a step back as Techno emerges, fully decked out in his netherite, cape sweeping behind him. The piglin is nothing if not dramatic.

“Techno,” he greets, watching him warily.

“Sam,” Techno nods to him, eyes following his movements. Fran stands to attention beside him, muscles tensed, prepared to pounce on him in needed. He instructs her to stand down, not yet seeing a threat in Techno’s stance.

“I saw what happened back there,”

“And you did nothing? You just stood and watched,”

“Hey man, look, I’m not good with peer pressure, I think we all saw that at that goddamn festival.” Techno gets defensive, almost bristling as he draws himself up to his full height, towering over Sam.

“You still attacked Quackity,”

“He went for me first, I didn’t mean to hit him anyway.”

“You did though. You blinded him,” 

Techno startles slightly, “Fully, like, eyesight gone?”

“No,” Sam stares at him, “just one eye.”

“Good, I was already feeling guilty about hitting him,” Sam frowned slightly under his mask. This interaction was not going as he had been expecting it to. He had expected Techno to step from the shadows, do a small monologue and attempt to finish what Wilbur had started.

“What do you want,”

“Nothing much,” Techno hums, looking down to where Fran is stood beside him, “I like your dog, what’s their name?”

“Her name is Fran, answer the question.”

“We all know I don’t like governments,” Sam huffs a small laugh at that, it’s a bit of an understatement, “And this is a government, and Wilbur is partaking in it.”

“Yes, I do realise that.”

“I don’t like it; I don’t want to be dragged into this. Wilbur’s already tried once; I doubt he’ll ask again.”

“What do you want me to do about that?”

“I want your help taking down Schlatt, start at the top, topple it from there. A government can’t survive without its foundations.”

…

Bad was friendly, Skeppy was nice, in his own, unique way, but nice nonetheless. Sapnap had returned a few minutes after their conversation, settling himself down between Karl and Quackity. He brings Kiwi with him, the small dragon settling on his lap once he sits down, curling up and going back to sleep. She’s like a cat, constantly snoozing.

George pulls Dream down onto the sofa when he returns, using the admin as a pillow. Bad smiles at the two, Skeppy laughs, his eyes squinting as he grins. They chat for a while, talking about aimless topics, such as whether milk or cereal goes first. He learns that Skeppy is an absolute heathen, putting his cereal in the microwave then pouring milk on it. Apparently warm cereal with cold milk tastes nice. Neither Bad not Sapnap seem to agree with him.

An undetermined amount of time later, they hear Sam returning, the front door sliding open. He can hear Sam talking, but his words are indistinguishable, too far away to be made sense of. They become clearer as he walks closer, but it doesn’t sound like he’s talking to Fran. He doesn’t think dogs are interested in dismantling governments, Fran might be, he doesn’t know her that well, but it’s not that plausible.

His heart drops when Techno enters the room, Sam a few steps behind him. Everyone else freezes as well. Turning and staring at the piglin. Tubbo gets up, moving slightly in front of Quackity, but not blocking his view of Techno, allowing him to watch his movements.

He doesn’t do anything, just standing in the doorway, looking around nervously before giving them an awkward wave. His eyes flick around the room, coming to rest on his face, he can feel him look over the scar on his face.

His face contorts into a sneer, but inside he’s panicking. Techno is stood right there, and he can feel a pickaxe slicing through his face again. He can feel the hot, sticky blood as it drips down his face, the way it feels on his hands, tacky and thick, staining his hands red no matter how many times he washes them, no matter how hard he scrubs at is skin, rubbing away the skin until his hands are pink and raw, more blood taking the place of the mess he just washed away.

He can feel his breath catch in his throat, eyes widening as Techno continues to stare at him. he watches as he breaks eye contact, ducking out of the room. The terror lingers, its claws firmly embedded in his brain as it conceals any cognitive thought.

He breathes quickly, his chest fluttering, but no air seeming to make it way to his brain. He feels lightheaded, his vision clouding over slightly as he stares at the spot Techno had been in mere seconds before.

He feels himself tip to the side, he can feel hands pressing against his skin, holding him closely. It does nothing to soothe his fear, wash away the anxiety wracking his frame. He shudders in another breath, vision blacking out completely.

…

“That, could have gone better,” Sam admits, turning to face him.

“Yeah, it really could have,” Techno admits, huffing, “Can’t say I expected him to have a panic attack when he saw me.” He sits down on one of the benches, looking around the workshop Sam has. It looks nice, organised in a chaotic way. Not that he can really say anything on the matter, his chests are a mess, items strewn about, half of stacks in one chest, the rest in another. He’s been meaning to organise them, but he can just never find the time.

“You did half-blind him,” Sam says, which, fair, he did. He hadn’t meant to, but it had still happened.

“Do you think I should go apologise?”

“Maybe in a bit, leave him be for now,”

Techno nods, watching as he begins to push aside metal scraps, laying a sheet of paper down. He writes the title ‘Government’ at the top, in script that is way too nice, the letters curl and flow prettily.

…

Karl catches Quackity as he tilts to the side, gripping his shoulders softly, trying to keep him grounded. He watches as his eyes slip shut, going limp in his grip and almost slipping to the floor. He pulls him up further, tucking a wing out of the way.

He just holds him for a bit, staring at him.

“Is he okay?” He looks up to Bad, then back down to Quackity.

“Well,” he lets out a nervous laugh, “he just passed out, so I would assume no?”

“What’s up with Techno?” Skeppy butts in, looking over to him and Sapnap in interest.

“We already discussed this, he slashed Quackity’s face open, in front of the whole of Manburg. Pretty traumatic.”

“Why did that happen anyway, I’m sure Techno wouldn’t attack without reason.” Skeppy argued, defending his long-standing friend.

“Schlatt got him to shoot me,” Tubbo says, “Quackity shoved him out of the way, drawing his sword. Techno fought back with a pickaxe. He disarmed Quackity and sliced straight through.”

“As lovely as this is,” Karl starts, standing up, “Quackity did just pass out, so we’re going to take him to bed, feel free to stay.”

He hauls Quackity up into his arms, holding him close to his chest as he walks from the room. Sapnap follows closely behind him, both walking towards his room. It’s probably more their room at this point, he muses, pushing the door open with his foot.

He hears Sapnap close it behind him, sitting down on the bed. He pulls Quackity onto his lap, arranging him until he looks comfortable. He leans back against the wall, taking the book Sapnap hands him as he sits beside him.

He opens to the first page, beginning to read, eyes flicking over the lines as Sapnap leans up against him, resting his head on Karl’s shoulder, watching Quackity. The avian has buried his face in the front of his hoodie, bringing his wings around him slightly as he sleeps. Karl brushes a hand along the feathers absentmindedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: discussion of needles
> 
> i had to get an injection today :( not very pogchamp.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is shorter and later than normal, i had to write a 4,000 word english essay :(

Schlatt paced around his office, waiting for the others to arrive. The sun was barely above the horizon, casting long shadows across the whole room, stretching and distorting all of their shapes. He stares out of his window, coming to a stop in front of it.

He watches the sun slowly inch its way up the horizon. He sneers, a rising sun is meant to be a sign of hope. He thinks it is only appropriate to be planning someone’s downfall at that time, blot that one pinprick of light, that hope for a new start, rub it completely from the horizon.

His door creaks open behind him, the old hinges squeaking as they twist. He hears two sets of footsteps enter the room. He turns to greet them, leaning over his desk, placing his palms on the solid wood as he looks over the two in front of him, another lingering in the corridor.

The two practically identical fox hybrids stand shoulder to shoulder. Fundy grips his sword, holding the blade tightly. He looks agitated, all three of them do. Wilbur’s bow is haphazardly slung over his shoulder, an arrow missing from his quiver.

They all appear unhurt, looks of anger slowly forming on their faces, frustration brewing just under the surface. He can see their swirling mess of emotions just below their skin, the way the stormy grey and deep red are battling against each other, shoving and trying to break free.

Wilbur covers the mixture of colours with a lighter grey, the thin mist wisping across the surface, creating a look of indifference to any outsider, to anyone that can’t see what everyone is feeling. Fundy isn’t bothering to conceal his anger, the red swirling the closest to the surface, twisting and curling around his ears.

Tommy’s is overshadowed by blue, the deep, mournful colour of someone who is angry, but also deeply upset. He doesn’t like that, doesn’t like the way he can see small hints of doubt weaving through the other colours, trying to overtake his other emotions. He’ll have to deal with that later.

“You look annoyed,” He laughs, the noise sounding fake, even to his own ears.

Wilbur huffs, looking to the side, “We ran into Sam on our way over,”

“And? I’m assuming you didn’t let him roam the streets unchecked.”

“We didn’t, sir,” Fundy looks over to Wilbur, nudging him slightly, “we made sure he left. We now know where Technoblade is, he went with Sam back to where his base presumably is. I have a tracker on his device, we can locate where he is.”

“That,” he pauses, watching as Tommy enters his office, “makes things slightly more difficult, the Blade is almost impossible to beat.”

He grins, “But he’s not completely invincible, even gods can bleed.”

…

Karl flicks over another page, eyes flicking over the lines as he nears the end of the book. He reads on, the plot having taken a foothold in his brain, keeping him interested. He reads as the protagonist defeats their enemy, bringing down everything wrong with the world. Karl laughs slightly, he wishes it was that easy. Things were hard to predict, time was complicated, the people and navigation of it even more so.

The protagonist had a happy ending, they always do. It’s unrealistic, but he likes it. It gives him hope for better times, better times for everyone on the server. It seems unachievable, one conflict disappearing, another taking its place within the week. It’s a seemingly never-ending cycle.

Sapnap is leaning all of his weight against him. He had fallen asleep a while ago, around the time he got to the middle of the book. Sapnap had lost interest in it a while before, not seeing why the narrative described impossible feats. Karl didn’t mind it, liking the closeness of the two.

He shuts the book and sets it aside, leaning back a bit more, taking Sapnap and Quackity with him. Sapnap is like a personal heater, radiating heat, combined with the blanket that Quackity creates with his wing, Karl is rather cosy, the warmth spreading over him.

The lack of anything keeping his brain occupied means he begins to feel more tired, eyes drooping as the heat makes him lethargic. He sighs once, the breath escaping softly as he slumps down further, making himself more comfortable.

He brings an arm around Quackity, leaning his head on top of Sapnap’s. He lets his eyes shut, dozing off slightly in the warmth, surrounded by people he trusts.

…

Sam can hear something. He’s not sure what it is, but it’s been annoying him for the past hour and a bit. Techno left his workshop a while ago, he said he wanted to speak to Skeppy. He knew the two were friends, so he didn’t question it.

He sets his tools down on the bench, leaving the prototype wings behind. He walks out of the room, Fran hopping from her bed and following after him.

He heads straight for the lounge, intending on getting a drink from the kitchen. The base seems oddly quiet as he passes through it. He pauses just outside the door that leads into the lounge. There’s no sound coming from there either.

He readjusts his gas mask, the motion more out of habit than worry. He instructs Fran to stay outside, stepping in, the silence becomes more ominous, the scene in front of him helps explain the silence, but not how.

Skeppy and Bad are leaned against each other, their eyes shut, both fast asleep. Techno is half-falling off the sofa across from them. He’s asleep too, Sam doesn’t understand it, taking a cautious step forward.

His boots crunches on something. He lifts his foot up to reveal a shattered bottle, the glass shards spread around a small area. There’s nothing but a small trace of silver liquid inside it. He’s thankful for the gas mask then, taking in the small wisps coming from the bottle.

He crouches, looking at the remnants more closely. He dips a gloved finger into it cautiously, looking for the properties of the potion he suspected. It moved slowly, sticking together as if it was a syrup, he looks back up to the three people.

He stands slowly, walking to the kitchen even slower. He’s not exactly eager to do what he’s about to do. He fills a glass with water, filling it right to the brim. He walks back over, being careful not to spill any, he doesn’t want to have to clean it up.

He pauses before he chucks it onto Bad and Skeppy, ducking out of their immediate vicinity as Bad shoots upright, looking wildly around him. he shakes his head in disgust, looking down at his now rather wet hoodie.

He turns around, spotting Sam right behind the sofa.

“You could have been nicer at waking me up,”

“No, I couldn’t have,” he brings a shard of glass into Bad’s line of vision, “you were drugged. Strong sleeping draught if my evaluation is correct.”

“Did you have to use that much water,” Skeppy complained, turning to face him as well. Techno is still asleep on the sofa opposite. Sam goes and refills the glass, hesitating more before chucking it over the piglin.

He bolts to the other side of the room, unsure on how he would react. He’s glad he did as Techno shoots to a standing position, axe at the ready, swinging it towards where Sam had been moments before. He freezes, the axe stopping its path as he takes in his surroundings.

He looks over to Sam, expression changing from one of anger to one of frustration.

“Did you really have to tip water on me?”

“Yes.”

He sets the glass down on the side, “I’m going to check on the other three. Stay here.”

He walks down the hallway. The base is silent now, no small, irritating sound chipping away at his patience. Fran follows him to Quackity’s door, where he instructs her to wait. He doubts that the intruders would just knock out Bad, Skeppy and Techno without some ulterior motive.

His suspicions are proven correct as he pushes the door open, revealing a mostly empty room beyond. There’s a hole in the wall, just large enough to fit a person through. He crouches, looking to the end of the tunnel where it emerges into sunlight.

He turns to the lone figure left on the bed. The normally neat arrangement of sheets is messy, the duvets strewn about, torn from their original structure. A few pillows have made their way to the floor. He grabs the half-empty cup left on the bedside table. He takes a breath before dumping it over him.

He watches as Quackity flails, his wings spreading out before snapping back in. He looks wildly from side to side, his eyes landing on Sam.

“Huh?” He looks terrified, eyes darting around the room, turning his head fully to see on his left side. His wings twitch behind him, the feathers ruffling and flattening over and over again. Sam can feel his anxiety from where he stands, several metres from the bed.

“Where are Karl and Sapnap? Did they leave?”

Sam inhales sharply, looking to the side, glad that his mask covers his face, “I,” his voice stutters out, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know he was here.”

“Who? Who was here?”

“Schlatt,” Sam looks back at Quackity, “he got most of us with a sleeping draught.”

“Where are Sapnap and Karl? Where’s Tubbo?”

“I think Sapnap and Karl were taken out of that hole,” He points towards the small tunnel leading from the room. Quackity is up from the bed in a second, darting over to the hole. He watches as the avian pokes his head in, wings spread slightly behind him for balance.

He watches Quackity reach inside, pulling a small piece of brightly coloured fabric free. He watches as Quackity seems to deflate, holding the scrap close to his chest. He watches, allowing Quackity a moment to gather himself, he watches as Quackity tucks the fabric into his hat, his hand brushing along a small yellow feather that also looks to be tucked into it.

Quackity stands, turning towards the door and walking away from Sam. He hurries after the avian, walking a few paces behind him, Fran at his heels as he follows Quackity to George’s room. He peeks inside when Quackity strides in.

The avian doesn’t hesitate, dumping a whole glass of water over Dream’s head, doing the same to Tubbo. George’s absence is painfully obvious. Dream startles awake, Tubbo jolting up from his position at the end of the bed.

Quackity pulls the young ram hybrid close, drawing him into a hug and tucking his wings around him. His heart breaks slightly as he sees the yellow wings begin to shake, feels the small crack widen further as Dream looks around for George, looking to him for answers. There’s a similar hole in the wall of this room. 

Sam can only shake his head, watching as Dream crumples in on himself, tucking his legs up behind him, tail wrapping around his legs.

Sam can’t help the sorrow that washes over him, watching as Quackity pulls away from his hug with Tubbo, turning to Sam, a renewed anger burning in his eyes as he stares the creeper hybrid down. Sam is slightly worried that he’s going to combust on the spot from the heat of it.

“I need some gear,” Quackity pauses, turning to look at Tubbo, they exchange a nod, confirming some unspoken communication, “we can’t leave them with that bastard.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos make me smile and comments make my day.
> 
> [My Discord](https://discord.gg/7gzqTy6xUJ)
> 
> [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/InkyStarss?s=09)


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